


And When The World Remembers

by ms_katonic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anti-Hero, Bad Guy Saves the World, Dragonborn | Dovahkiin in Thedas (Dragon Age), Guaranteed No Bianca Davri, M/M, Male Slash, Masks, Miraak Lives (Elder Scrolls), Slash, Starting Over, Unintentional Redemption, When Evil Overlords Fight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 211,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23742874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic
Summary: When two Dragonborns fight, the results are never trivial, and there can be only one left standing. With the Last Dragonborn all set to be the victor, an unexpected disaster far away gives the First a chance to cheat death yet again, escaping Oblivion only to find himself in a completely different land with no hero to save it from unfolding catastrophe. No one but Miraak. Can the First Dragonborn overcome the habits of millennia to be the hero Thedas needs? Or will he prove to be a villain greater than anything Tevinter ever managed? Only time will tell - that and the efforts of one of Tevinter's outcast sons.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Dorian Pavus, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Miraak/Dorian Pavus, Serana (Elder Scrolls)/Blackwall (Dragon Age)
Comments: 198
Kudos: 287





	1. At the Summit of Apocrypha

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had an idea that may not be one of my better ones. It grew out of a Tumblr post. Says it all really. It's another Dragonborn arrives in Thedas, ends up in the Inquisition fic... with a difference.
> 
> The Dragonborn is Miraak. Who unlike Elisif, who is a sweet but fierce social justice warrior with a family and friends and strong ties to the Empire back home, is a self-centred prick all too keen to cut ties with his homeland and not that bothered about sorting Thedas's social problems out. He just wants to get the Veil fixed so Mora can't find him. This has the potential to be an Evil!Inquisitor fic, but I'm hoping more for Redemption Arc. I'm also aiming for eventual Miraak/Dorian, in which Dorian ends up as the real hero of the piece due to persuading the one-time Evil Overlord to change his ways.
> 
> So here it is. Miraak saving the world. Maker have mercy on us all.

Damn that High Elf. Damn her to Oblivion. He didn’t know how she’d got that good with fire magic, but the damage he’d thought to shrug off or that his robes might absorb had turned out to be near lethal twice and he wasn’t about to sit around for a third time.

He was out of here… and then distantly they both heard it. The explosion that seemed to rock Oblivion itself, a vast tearing of the Veil. A way back without the tiresome need to go to the trouble of killing this Daedra-damn Altmer woman in the robes of an Archmage who wielded fire like it was part of her.

Let her have Solstheim. Miraak had new opportunities. 

“GOL HAH DOV!”

Sahrotaar was back under his control again, and he was away and riding, seeking out the source of this new explosion, feeling its power, feeling magicka pouring out of Oblivion into Mundus, just needing to follow the power drain.

“Hey, get back here!” he heard the elf, Liriel he thought her name was, shout at him. 

_I am beyond you, elf. I hope Mora finds a use for you._

He was watching, of course, finding this new development of interest. If the Tentacled One was bothered about a hole in his realm, he wasn’t showing it. He wasn’t even stopping Miraak from fleeing. He was just watching. Seeming interested.

If Miraak had known it, Hermaeus Mora had seen things unfold, realised the source and realised several things at once. That Miraak was gone from his direct control regardless. That if he died, he’d be dead and of no further use to him. But if he were allowed to fly in that direction… he’d be able to spread Mora’s influence to an entire land presently free of it. 

Mora made his decision and let Miraak go. He had another Dragonborn at his disposal now anyway. Yes, he could definitely make use of the Reach-King’s wife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The flight had seemed to take a long time… but Miraak had time. He’d long ago learnt the art of using Oblivion’s energy to stop himself ageing or becoming sick. Repeated applications of Bend Will kept Sahrotaar pliant, and together they flew over the endless green ocean… until a new land emerged.

It did feel different, this one. Yes, it looked like Mora’s realm, but it felt different somehow. As if his influence ran thin, and lesser Daedra roamed freely. And below were many many small tears, rents in the Veil, all leading to a world beyond. Under water. Deserts. Cities. Palaces. Markets. Villages. Fields. Forests. Mountains. A hundred little glimpses, all of it vibrating to the same song. A strange singing metal underlying it all and channelling its power. No – two kinds? One blue, clear, Aetherial song… and a darker song, coming from red liquid, a song of evil and corruption. Power but at a price, and power like that had a will of its own.

Miraak had had his fill of power he couldn’t control. And so he moved on, not fully realising that dragon blood had its own song, and perhaps the world below reacted.

At length the large rend opened up, a vast vortex of magicka spiralling into the world below, terrified Daedra being dragged along with it. And Sahrotaar wheeled away from it.

“What, Sahrotaar, are you afraid?” Miraak scolded, amused.

“If I fly near that, I lose my ability to fly,” Sahrotaar said simply. “I will find you a smaller entrance, Thuri, there are many of them. There.”

There was one, and stumbling up a stone staircase towards it were two figures, one in red and white robes that had been fine once before the muck of Oblivion found it. And another that looked like some sort of elf with a glowing hand. Someone had reached for Oblivion’s power and got burned.

Both looked up as they saw the dragon fly overhead, and that was all the spider daedra following them needed. The elf died first, torn apart, the power in their hand flickering out and being absorbed back into Oblivion. And then it was the woman’s turn, so close to freedom, staring out into a mountain scene that stank of burned flesh and smoke.

Not enough room for Sahrotaar to land, but he could hover. And Miraak shouted himself into Ethereality and leapt, landing like a cat in front of the rift in the Veil.

The woman died as he watched, eyes staring incomprehensibly at the robed stranger on a dragon with the strange mask who was stepping into the world beyond, Sahrotaar leaving, his job done. Miraak didn’t know he was watching a religious leader perish, but he could sense another presence watching him. The Daedra that called this part of Apocrypha home, ruling away from Mora’s eyes. A Daedra of fear, of nightmares, and it was wondering why he wasn’t afraid.

“I’m never afraid when I’m winning,” Miraak told it, grinning beneath the mask. “Pray I do not return.”

The spiderlings chittered, all withdrawing, and Miraak stepped back into the free air of Vus. All would bear witness. All the world would listen, and all the world would see – and when the world remembered…

Someone had punched through the very walls of Oblivion to bring him into this world. How could Miraak do other than give this world the Dragonborn it required.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Of course, Vus had its own challenges, mainly that unless you wielded the Thu’um, it did not reshape itself to your whim but remained stubbornly as it was. 

Specifically, the freezing cold air remained freezing, and the rift was about six feet off the ground that did not rise to meet his feet.

Miraak cried out as he hit the snowy ground in pain, suddenly exhausted and tired and hungry as his body no longer drew sustenance from Oblivion but instead became a physical being in a physical world again. Which meant the cuts and grazes on his hands and knees and the sprained ankle would need attending to, wouldn’t they.

Restoration magic took care of that, and then he turned to see the rift in the sky behind him, some glowing silhouette of a woman still present in the Void beyond.

He should do something about that. In the deepest lore of the dragons, the origin story had had them as Akatosh’s children intended to police the Veil between Vus and Feim, the lands of Laas and Ziil. They were gifted with wings to take them to tears in the Veil quickly, teeth and claws to rend interlopers limb from limb, and the Thu’um that could command it shut.

So he did that. One less means for Mora to snatch him back, was it not?

“STRIN FEIM FUS!”

Close Fade by Force. The Shout worked exactly as intended, pulling the sides of the rift closed, sealing it shut and then it was gone, as if it had never been.

A good start. Miraak felt rather pleased with himself. He just needed to get up, somehow, and find food and a warm bed, anywhere out of the dratted cold.

Footsteps and voices calling for… he didn’t know what they were saying. Had the language changed so much? No, no, it hadn’t, everyone in Tamriel spoke that elven-Cyrodiilic hybrid they called the Standard or just Tamrielic. Everyone in Tamriel knew to hail a stranger in that tongue.

So… was he not in Tamriel then? The place was certainly cold, snowy and mountainous enough to be somewhere in Solstheim or Skyrim.

The question of where he was would have to wait. There were soldiers approaching in an odd armour with a symbol of an eye and a sword on the cuirasses, and one blonde man in plainer armour with some sort of ruff that seemed to be the one in charge.

And Miraak was in no state to talk to them even if he had known the language. Closing his eyes, he passed out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“And your soldiers just found him lying in the snow, the only living person in the area after an explosion he should not have survived. And no one knows who he is?”

Leliana stared at the man lying in the cell before her. A medical examination had revealed him to be in good health overall but clearly suffering from exhaustion. No injuries. Built like an Avvar barbarian, looked to be in his thirties maybe, longish blonde hair tied back out of his eyes but otherwise unstyled… and a mask and fancy robes that owed more to Orlais… but this was no Orlesian’s mask.

Leliana held the thing in her arms, staring at the tentacled face and strange eyes and when she’d worn it, it had felt heavy… and it thrummed with power. She’d felt it in her blood, in her hands, the oddest of feelings, as if the power of the Fade was at her fingers and spellcasting within her grasp… she’d taken it off immediately. If this thing had the power to make anyone into a mage if they wore it… dangerous indeed.

“No,” Cullen said grimly. “Come on, Leliana, look at him. We think he’s a mage, but that’s no Circle mage’s robes. Not to mention the staff, and we still don’t know what that sword is. Other than that it’s clearly demonic.”

A poison blade made of writhing tentacles? What else would it be. And the staff oozed an unholy energy. All of it did, which is why they’d put Templars on watch until he woke up. At least he didn’t seem to be Tevinter, but if not Tevinter, what was he? The Avvar had mages, but he was far too well-dressed to be one of the mountain barbarians.

 _Witch of the Wilds,_ a voice whispered in her ear. _An apostate like Morrigan. Or Flemeth._

An unknown apostate with gear that spoke of wealth, power and trafficking with demons, and no one knew who he was. And he’d spoken words at a Fade rift and banished it completely.

They’d had the other unknown apostate examining him. A bald elf called Solas, who’d frowned, concerned.

“Well, Solas, what are your thoughts?” Leliana asked. “Do you know anything?”

“He’s an apostate mage and likely a powerful one, but no, I do not know him,” Solas said, getting up. “However, he has a power I only heard the vaguest of whispers of. An old Avvar tale of one with the power of dragons, who could shout and their Voice could remake the world. I know very little else. It was always a rare power even in the ancient Avvar homeland, and no one in Thedas has ever wielded it that we know of. For a wielder of it to turn up here, for it even to be real in the first place… it is unbelievable and unlikely to be a coincidence.”

“You think he caused the explosion, then?” Leliana asked, narrowing her eyes. For all their searching, they’d found no one and nothing else to indicate who might have caused it. Just an unknown mage wielding dangerous power.

The door to the prison clattered open and Cassandra strode into the room, the Right Hand of a dead Divine looking for something, anything, to punish for the massacre that had rent open the Veil and claimed the lives of hundreds.

“Is that the maleficar,” Cassandra snapped, drawing her sword. “He still lives, I notice.”

“We’re not stabbing him in his sleep, Cassandra,” Cullen said, folding his arms, and glancing at Leliana who was coldly staring at the mage still and who was clearly contemplating doing exactly that.

“Who knows what he’s capable of,” Leliana said softly. “Even if he didn’t cause this, he could be a worse monster than the one who did.”

“Or he could be every bit the Dovekkin hero the Avvar claim his kind are,” Solas said. “You argue for mage rights, Leliana. Give this man the chance to defend himself. Besides, we know one thing for certain. He has power over the rifts. No one else can close them. Assuming he is not the one that caused the explosion, you need him alive.”

“Who else would it have been,” Cassandra said, narrowing her eyes at him. “He is a mage of unknown power, no one knows who he is and he was found alive near the explosion site. He is our only suspect.”

“It is also why it wasn’t him,” Solas said, standing his ground, facing up to a heavily armed Seeker of the Truth and not remotely intimidated despite the peasant hedge mage outfit he had on. “If he were truly responsible, he would have fled the scene if healthy enough to do so, or had a plan to return and take advantage, he would not have let us find him in this weakened state. If he had fled into the Fade, he would have returned via a rift much further away than the one he came out of. And if his voice can close a rift without fuss, it could open one without an explosion. No. Something else did this, and this man was caught in the crossfire. Of course, that says little about his intentions. You will not find those out until he wakes. Regardless, a giant hole in the sky threatens us all. He might agree to help.”

He might. Or he might make things worse. And Cassandra could only think that if he was not the culprit, that meant there were two dangerous mages on the loose. Still, she was a Seeker of Truth who believed in the justice system, much as she believed this one should hang or be made Tranquil for the safety of all.

“Then we will question him when he wakes. I want Templars on him at all times until he does.”

No one disagreed with that. With Templars watching the still sleeping mage, everyone filed out. They had a crisis outside demanding their attention after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miraak woke and said nothing, looking about him, glancing at the armoured warriors who were guarding his cell, seeing solid steel armour with a flaming sword, and seeing them reacting, shouting something at him, and then they hit him with something, some spell or other… and his magic was gone.

Interesting. They had mage warriors who could cast magic that could stop another mage’s magic. And they feared him, oh yes, they feared him.

Miraak could cope with ruling by fear, and while they’d shackled his hands, his voice was still available.

“HON ZUL HAH!”

Hear speech and know it. Miraak sat back, and the unintelligible language became intelligible as the soldiers drew swords and shouted at him to hold still, say nothing, make no sudden moves.

So Miraak said nothing and did not move, watching as one left, presumably to get the actual leader. Good. He would negotiate with one who had power, not these watchmen.

Maybe she’d have his mask with her. He’d really like it back. Not that his magicka was low without it, of course not… but he was Miraak. The dragon priest mask was what told everyone who he was and what he was, it was what his dragon cult followers had seen as the symbol of rank, and what his latter day cultists had seen in their dreams as his face. He barely took it off. And now it was gone, and everyone could see his face.

He really didn’t like people being able to see his real face. Probably because it looked so normal. He’d seen all the speculation among his followers over what he really looked like. Many of them had settled on a man who, under the mask, was part dragon himself, with half his face scaled over and one eye being that of a dragon.

Alas, it wasn’t true. Under the mask was the face of a Nord man of thirty seven years, blonde hair that he kept tied back so it didn’t bother him but grown out because who cropped their hair in a climate like Solstheim’s, clean-shaven because facial hair did not go with a mask, but not freshly shaven because frankly who had time. He removed it when it started itching or becoming uncomfortable under the mask, but otherwise cared little for it. As for his eyes, they were perfectly normal blue eyes common to the Nordic people. Nothing odd here, although people had told him he was attractive. No mate for him though, not since Saering had died. Part of Miraak had died with him.

Miraak wasn’t really after a replacement any time soon either. No, what he really wanted was the use of a razor. And a bath. He suspected those might be some way off though.

It wasn’t long before she arrived, a woman in the eye and sword armour, leather skirts flapping around armour clad legs as she strode in, dark eyes flashing, light brown skin speaking of a homeland warm and sunny, and dark hair cropped short, no doubt for practicality. And the scar on her cheek spoke of practical battle experience.

So, a warrior then. And given the way the others stood to attention as she passed, a high-ranking one.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now!” she shouted at him.

Whatever he’d done, he’d clearly managed to offend already. No matter. This type was easily dealt with. Remain polite. Calm. Do not let them get to you and merely answer their questions.

“Drem Yol Lok. Do I have the pleasure of speaking to the Thur of this strunmah? My apologies, krosis, if I have trespassed or broken any of your laws. I am a stranger to this land, but I intend no hostility. I wish only to have tinvaak, to talk. As a gesture of good faith, I have remained in this cell and not killed your soldiers, despite easily possessing the ability to do so. My name is Miraak, what should I call you?”

The woman growled at him, clearly not won over. Well. He’d not really expected her to be, but at least start civil, no? However, she did sheathe her sword.

“I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, the Right Hand of Divine Justinia, our Most Holy. She perished at the explosion that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes and we are seeking her killer. So far, you are our only suspect.”

Ah. He really should have asked Sahrotaar to drop him further from the big rift.

“Seeker. I was far from the explosion when it happened. I promise you, I did not cause it.”

“So how did you get here??” Cassandra snapped. “Who even are you? And what is that thing you do with your voice? We all heard it. At the rift when you closed it and just now. What is it.”

“You have never heard of the Thu’um?” Miraak asked, only a little surprised. No matter. They would all know it by the time he was through. “It is the ability to shout in the tongue of dragons and affect the world. I spent many years learning it. Yes, I sealed the hole in the Veil for you. I would expect thanks for this.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, lip curling back.

“Dragons do not talk,” she informed him. “Some say they have intelligence of a sort, but most scholars agree they are only beasts.”

Despite everything, despite all the dragons he’d killed or enslaved or taken the souls of to prolong his own existence, Miraak could still feel offended on behalf of an entire species.

“The mighty Dov can and do talk, Seeker. They are far more than mere beasts. But… perhaps you have never had occasion to have tinvaak with one. Or the dragons here are different. If they are, give thanks you have never met a true Dovah. They are creatures to be feared.”

“Are they,” Cassandra said, clearly disbelieving. “You should know my ancestors are famed for their dragon hunting skills, and we did not only hunt the small ones. High Dragons fell to Pentaghast blades. Most of my kin these days have grown fat and lazy, but you should know I have remained in fighting form.”

He could believe that.

“I would like to see you fight a Dovah, Seeker. I truly would.”

Cassandra just grunted in response, definitely not fond of him. He could bear that. She wasn’t mate material anyway.

“So, if you say you were not responsible for the explosion, how did you get here. People do not just fall out of the Fade then shout it shut. How did you even get into the Fade in the first place?”

“A Daedra- no, a demon lord thought I would make a useful servant and snatched me away to his realm. I have been trapped there ever since. I was making plans to escape when the explosion happened. I took my chance and fled, selecting one of the many holes in the Veil to escape through. I used my Thu’um to close it behind me but was too weary to do more. The Shout you heard just now was me crafting one to let me understand your tongue. So far, it is working.”

“And the woman,” Cassandra pressed. “The soldiers say they saw a woman in the Fade behind you. Who was she?”

Miraak shrugged. “I have no idea. She wore red and white robes that covered her hair, although I do not think her young. I believe she was someone of status. But the demons got to her before I could intervene. She is likely dead. My apologies if she was known to you.”

Cassandra closed her eyes and whispered “Most Holy” to herself. She took a few moments to compose herself before reaching for the cell keys and unlocking the door.

“I can promise you a trial, no more. But if you help us deal with the rifts and the demons, I will ensure it is a fair one and speak in your favour.”

Miraak could do that. And trials took time to organise, didn’t they? Miraak could manage a lot in that time. The will of mortals was an easy thing to manipulate if you knew how.

“Very well. I will help close the rifts for you. Onikaan koraav gein miraad. It is wise to recognise when you have only one choice.”

“Do not make me regret it,” Cassandra snapped, unlocking his shackles. “Do you wish that ridiculous mask back?”

Yes. Yes he would. He’d felt naked without it. Sadly, while the mask was soon returned, it looked like he’d have to wait longer for his weapons. Alas.

He would tolerate it for now. Ni tiid ov. Trust was earned, not given. So he followed Cassandra Pentaghast up out of the cells and into what was some manner of temple, or had been once. More of those armoured soldiers with the flaming sword all looking suspicious, and a few women in red and white. Some sort of religious order maybe? But he sensed no magic in them. How you had priestesses with no magic was beyond Miraak’s comprehension. 

The small town outside was worse, everyone watching with suspicion, and more of the round helmed soldiers in light armour that seemed to represent the main troops of whatever order was running this place. Strange. For all that the religious leader had been killed, this didn’t look like a capital.

Maybe the capital had been the destroyed temple on the mountain. Which looked annoyingly far away, and Miraak cursed at having to walk the entire distance. The huge portal in the sky was dominating the sky, very far away and spewing raw magicka into the world. It would keep his full, but it also irritated him. Like a particularly persistent small child bouncing up and down behind him to get his attention.

Yes, yes, you were big and glowy and he’d noticed, all right? Now this Dovahkiin would have no choice but to dispose of you. Who but a fool would leave a door like that open for Mora to potentially find him through.

Following the Seeker up the mountain trail, which stubbornly refused to get any smaller no matter how much he wished it, Miraak quietly prayed for something interesting to happen. He got his wish about fifteen minutes later as they reached a bridge over the frozen river beneath. He was almost halfway across when green light smashed into it, the bridge exploding and only a hasty ward shielding him from damage from flying splinters.

The snowbank by the river side saved him from damage on landing and he looked up to see who else had survived. Particularly that Pentaghast woman. Annoying as she was, she was giving him a chance to prove himself and it wouldn’t look good if she died on his watch.

Fortunately she’d survived, but the light appeared to have been caused by two Daedra crashing into Nirn, both of which were attacking the Seeker… and one had seen him and was heading his way.

Neither looked like denizens of Apocrypha, thankfully. Meaning they’d been dragged into this as unintentionally as he had been, and Mora wasn’t hunting him.

None of that would stop Miraak defending himself. Even with no weapon, his magic was still formidable.

Frost magic. Fire magic. A lightning bolt. And for good measure, Alteration magic on the ice below it, sending its dying remains sinking to the bottom.

Miraak had truly missed a real fight. Apocrypha just wasn’t the same as the real world.

Alas for Cassandra having finished hers off and approaching with her sword drawn.

“Drop your-!” She saw no weapon in his hands and her eyebrows shot up. “You do not need your staff.”

“No,” Miraak purred. “I don’t need the sword either. But they’re treasures hard-won and I like to have them. Come now, Seeker, did you really think a man who can shout the Veil shut needs anything as mundane as a blade?”

Cassandra grimaced but she did sheathe her sword.

“I should remember you are not attempting to flee,” Cassandra said grimly. “And I suppose I cannot fault you for defending yourself from a demon. There will likely be more. I will not always be able to protect you.”

“Onikaan koraav gein miraad,” Miraak said cheerfully, electing not to repeat the translation, although the look on her face indicated she remembered his earlier words all too well. “Lead on, Seeker.”

Cassandra just grimaced again but did at least give him access to her supply of healing potions now. Not that he really needed them, but she didn’t need to know just how good he was at Restoration magic.

More demons, more climbing, more fighting and then the sound of a battle up ahead.

“Who’s fighting, more of your soldiers?” 

“You’ll see soon enough,” Cassandra said grimly. “Come, we must help them.”

In the remains of what had once been a side room in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Daedra had emerged from a smaller rift and were fighting Cassandra’s soldiers, along with two others not in uniform. 

One was clearly an elf, although not exactly any kind of mer Miraak was familiar with. He actually resembled the Snow Elves except shorter. But Miraak was also sure that wasn’t right either.

The other… not a juvenile. But the short legs gave him the height of one. And that crossbow – Dwemer make?

Dwemer weren’t that short and they looked more elven than this man, and he also knew they’d all disappeared. So what was this man?

The demons left him little time to think on this. In particular, one large one looking like a lava demon was making straight for him.

“IIZ SLEN NUS!”

The Thu’um of the Winter froze it solid, and then Cassandra’s sword shattered it. With the other demons falling to the elf’s magic or the other one’s crossbow, that just left the rift. A few moments to get his breath back, and then he shouted at the rift.

Just as before, the rift sealed shut and it was one less eye for Mora to watch him by. He really shouldn’t let childish emotions get the better of him, but damn if he didn’t find this rift-sealing business enjoyable.

The reactions of the soldiers were quite pleasing too. They were cheering! Excellent. Future cultists one and all. Difficult to prosecute the rift-sealing saviour. Miraak approved of the way this was going.

He especially approved of the way the elf and the short one were watching him, especially the shock on the elf’s face.

“So, our mysterious survivor is awake,” the elf said, gathering himself. “And the stories are clearly true. You do have power over the Rifts.”

“Yes,” Miraak purred. “Yes I do. This displeases you.”

The elf’s expression swiftly cleared itself.

“It is simply unexpected, that’s all. Avvar tales of voice mages were always ridiculously embellished and there was no evidence that anyone on Thedas had ever practised the art. To see that it is not only real but to see a practitioner of the art in the flesh… tell me, how on earth did you learn this? Your robes indicate a sophistication that I’ve never seen in any of the Avvar tribesmen here.”

“I am not from here,” Miraak replied, making a mental note to look into these Avvar. “My arrival here was… accidental. I was held prisoner for a long time by a lord of the demonic realms. The explosion gave me the chance to escape and I took it. My original homeland is far from here. There dragons can talk and their words have power. When I was young they ruled as gods and so I served in their priesthood. It was there I discovered I could wield the Voice like they did. It was that ability that attracted the demon lord’s attention. Alas for being young and foolish. But I got away at last. Now… now we have a common cause in sealing that. I am not keen for the demon that captured me to come looking for me.”

“I imagine not,” Solas said, irritation giving way to interest. “You say you were physically held prisoner in the Fade? How long for exactly?”

 _Four thousand years, give or take._ But none of them were ready to hear that.

“Yes,” Miraak said shortly. “And it was long enough. I have no desire to return.”

“And you returned uncorrupted. Yourself in all respects.”

He stated this as if it were fact. Well, of course it was. Wasn’t it?

“Yes,” Miraak said, hands on his hips. “Many others who ended up in that realm fell prey to it of course. But not me.”

“But not you,” the elf echoed. “Fascinating! You and I will have to have further conversations. My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I was called in to observe you when you arrived, after the healers had finished examining you.”

“He means he talked them out of killing you while you slept,” the short man said, rolling his eyes. “Varric Tethras, at your service. Storyteller, businessman, occasional unwelcome tagalong.”

This was said with a wink at Cassandra, who grimaced in response. Miraak was more concerned that he’d nearly been stabbed in his sleep.

“You would really have killed me while unconscious?” Miraak asked, still raising an eyebrow despite the fact no one could see this behind the mask. Cassandra looked uncomfortable but did not deny it.

“It was an option under consideration, but eventually we ruled it out. Solas rightly pointed out you should have a chance to explain yourself. Also you are the only one with any power over the rifts, and therefore our only hope of sealing the large one. Your willingness to help close it is speaking in your favour.”

“I’m more concerned about the being taken prisoner in the Fade by a demon part,” Varric said, frowning. “Is that common? I’ve heard of demons wanting to invade our world and possessing mages but never taking one prisoner in the Fade.”

“You never met a demon lord,” Miraak said, wishing the perils of Daedra were as straightforward as that. “This one had a realm of his own in Oblivion, what you call the Fade. He had every desire for power and influence in Vus, the mortal world. But he had little desire to come here in person. Does a king wishing to extend his domains feel the need to go to his new dominions himself? So it was with this one. I won’t speak his name. But he lured me in with promises of power, persuaded me to lead a rebellion against my earthly masters, and when they finally came to put me down, snatched me away to his realm. And there I remained until the chance for escape. That is my story, Varric Tethras. A morality tale for young mages. Do not trust demons or trade with them for power. They will take every hold over you they can get.”

Seeing the unnerved look on the man’s face, he patted him on the back.

“Do not worry. We’ll get these rifts closed, firm up the Veil, get rid of these lesser Daedra. It should prevent his minions coming after me.”

He was aware of the elf, Solas, watching him with interest, and Cassandra looking a little less grudging, and Varric looked surprised.

“You know, Tentacles, for an apostate who’s trafficked with demons by his own admission, you’re sounding an awful lot like a Circle mage.”

“Is that good – wait, Tentacles??”

Varric seemed utterly unrepentant. 

“Come on, we all got a look at your weapons when you were brought in. The staff, the sword, the mask – there’s a theme going on here. I’ve have gone for some facial characteristics but, well, you’re not exactly keen on showing those off, are you.”

Amusement from Solas, and by Akatosh, this man was on very thin ice.

“Can you even see our faces from down there,” Miraak snapped, and far from being cowed or even offended, Varric Tethras actually laughed.

“Oof! Good sir, you have wounded me to the quick. But it was a good comeback, I’ll give you that. You should know though that while I am known for my sense of humour, many of my fellow dwarves are known for, well, their over-seriousness. In particular, you’ll find a lot of the Carta dwarves left their sense of humour in the same place they left their dwarven honour, and would probably kneecap you for saying things like that.”

“Is that the furthest they can reach,” Miraak said, starting to see the funny side, and no two ways about it, Solas was laughing outright by this point and even Cassandra was definitely warming up to him, and this was strange. This… making people laugh thing. He liked it. It was gratifying. It was… were these people starting to like him? Accept him as one of them?

It was such an alien concept that Miraak banished it immediately. No. These people were resources. A means to an end and that end was power in this world, and ensuring no one from the next came hunting him. He definitely didn’t care about their opinions and he definitely didn’t enjoy the sensation of people admiring him not because they had no choice but because they genuinely thought well of him.

Miraak the Dragon Priest had no concept of love or friendship or anything but power and defending it. Miraak the First Dragonborn barely even remembered his childhood by this point, but he’d learned the lessons of his dragon masters well.

But Miraak the human still had a human’s social instincts. Somewhere in Miraak’s heart, the seeds of something long dormant sensed a change in the climate and started to germinate. Varric Tethras was an annoying dwarf with a smart mouth… but Miraak, far from blasting him off the face of Nirn, started to feel the urge to keep him around. Because the dwarf made life interesting. No other reason, of course.

Miraak did not do friendship. Miraak only had nemeses, pawns and minions. Sadly for him, no one had told Varric that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“This is where we found you, falling out of a rift and shouting it shut then passing out.”

It did look familiar. Miraak had seen demolished walls and just assumed he’d landed in an old ruin. It hadn’t fully occurred to him it had been the lobby of an actual functioning temple only days (hours?) before his arrival.

Miraak wasn’t easily bothered by death and violence, of course. All the same, it seemed such a waste. He could have done so much as God-King of this place. Now look at it.

Of course, the power vacuum left behind did present opportunities. He’d already learned no one was really in charge any more, with the Divine’s death and the loss of a great many potential successors in the explosion. All that was left were the Left and Right Hands of the Divine, and the Divine’s administrator Chancellor Roderick. Who was calling for his imprisonment and transport to Val Royeaux pending the election of a new Divine.

Thankfully Cassandra had pulled rank and insisted on taking charge, and her comrade Leliana the Left Hand had also seemed reasonable. They’d let him decide how best to climb the summit – with the soldiers or via a side path. Miraak had never been one to press for open battle for the sake of it, and so the side path it had been. There’d been demons. More rifts. And saving a party of soldiers who might not have made it otherwise and who were grateful for the rescue.

Specifically, they were grateful to him for closing the rift, and there it was again, that strange feeling of warmth in his chest as they thanked him, pleasure at the awe in their eyes as they stared at the one who could banish the rifts.

_I think I like being here. Chaotic as this is… I like doing this._

It was an odd feeling, one Miraak would unpack later, but for now it was enough that he felt more alive on this cold day in a foreign land than he had in four millennia in Apocrypha.

And now he was here, at the Temple itself, picking his way through rubble strewn corridors, and then Leliana was behind them with a small group of soldiers.

“Did you have trouble getting here?” Cassandra asked her.

“We lost a few good soldiers. I hope it was worth it,” she replied, glancing at Miraak. “Are we ready?”

Miraak glanced up at the hole in the Veil, dubbed the Breach by those who’d seen it, and while his Thu’um was mighty, it was a long way up.

“I would need a Dovah’s wings to get up there,” Miraak said, eyeing it carefully. “You do not have one to hand, of course.”

“Of course not,” Cassandra sighed. “Solas, you had thoughts?”

“You need not close the Breach direct. The rift down there, it was the first and is the heart. If you close that one, it may do the rest. But be warned. We will attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons,” Cassandra snapped. “Come, let us get down there.”

That part wasn’t hard. But Miraak wasn’t prepared for the glowing red rock that was singing to him, promising him power, all the power he could ever want…

Flashes of Apocrypha, of endless green sky and green-black ocean and black tentacles reaching out for him…

Miraak cried out and staggered back from it, fighting the urge to vomit.

“What is it?” he managed to get out.

“Red lyrium,” Varric said grimly. “It’s evil, don’t touch it! Seeker, what’s it doing here?”

“I see it, Varric,” was all that Cassandra said, which was as good an admission of ignorance as any.

“Perhaps there was lyrium under the temple, and magic corrupted it,” Solas said, but Miraak had his doubts. Something else had brought this vile substance here, something unholy and Daedric. Miraak didn’t think it was Mora necessarily but he could sense its evil and wanted no part of it. Quickening his pace, he moved on.

At least until the voices echoed out and the visions started.

_“Now is the hour of our victory!”_

_“Why are you doing this?? You, of all people!”_

_“Keep the sacrifice still!”_

“That’s Divine Justinia!” Cassandra cried. “But who’s that with her?”

The male speaker’s appearance seemed obscured, a dark humanoid cloud with glowing red eyes and little else. But the voice, while certainly commanding and distinctive, was not Miraak’s.

“That would be your murderer,” Miraak said calmly. “Note my absence from this scene.”

 _“What’s going on here?”_ A stranger, and while none knew who it was, Solas said the voice sounded elven, and Varric identified a Free Marches accent.

 _“Run while you can! Warn them!”_ Divine Justinia crying out to the interloper.

_“An intruder! Kill them.”_

The vision went silent. Miraak wondered if the intruder had been the elf he’d seen die. Either way, he could see how this ended. But how elf and Divine had ended up in the Fade was beyond him. Had the explosion flung them both through the Breach? Why hadn’t it killed them? And why had this mysterious killer triggered it at all? Or maybe he’d not intended to. Had he survived as well? Was he better equipped to deal with demons and in the Fade still? Or was he making it back to Vus via a rift even now.

One thing Miraak did know. He had a rival out there. One who had power and wasn’t shy about showing it. And Dragonborns did not like rivals.

_When I have fixed the mess you have made of the sky, I will find you and demonstrate whose Thu’um is the stronger. Count on it, Hokoroni._

“Come,” Miraak growled. “Let us seal that rift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never really written Miraak before. I hope he's coming across as, well, himself. I suspect this fic will be more based on romance and character development rather than action, due to Miraak being an OP Thu'um-wielding demigod, but that doesn't mean there won't be a bit of excitement to come. We all want to see Corypheus and Miraak monologuing at each other, don't we?
> 
> Miraak has a Varric nickname already. Oh dear. Still, at least he's got a sense of humour. Who knew?
> 
> Notes on the Dovah, although I'm not translating vanilla Skyrim Shouts - UESP has those:
> 
> Thuri - my lord. Thur means lord or ruler.
> 
> Vus - Mundus, the world of mortals
> 
> Feim - the Fade, the world of spirits
> 
> Strin Feim Fus - Close Fade Force. Sorts out tears in the Veil. Anchor, what Anchor? Miraak needs no Anchor.
> 
> Hon Zul Hah - Hear Language Understand. Shout it and you know a whole new language.
> 
> Drem Yol Lok - Peace fire sky, not actually a Thu'um but a greeting in Dovahzul
> 
> Strunmah - stronghold or headquarters, home.
> 
> Krosis - sorry.
> 
> Tinvaak - conversation, usually a significant or deep one.
> 
> Onikaan koraav gein miraad. - lit. Wisdom only has one doorway, but usually translated in the way Miraak gives.
> 
> Ni tiid ov - not the time for trust (yet)
> 
> Hokoroni - my enemy.
> 
> The Dragonborn Miraak was fleeing was Liriel from my other fics.


	2. The Herald of Andraste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rift is closed and the Breach is stable... but it's still there, which is annoying Miraak no end. Still, he's been promoted from prisoner to asset and the Inquisition's newly-formed Inner Circle has welcomed him into it, which is something he's more than happy about. A trip to the Hinterlands to win allies and improve the Inquisition's PR is the next move... but one of his companions has some unorthodox views which are setting Miraak's instincts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, people seem to be enjoying it so far! Apart from one guy on FFNet who got himself triggered by the prospect of an M/M relationship and promptly threw a tantrum in the comments both here and on Age of the Dragon. Don't go looking, I cleared them up, but I can summarise the main content as being "you're a really good writer but suddenly lose the ability to do characterisation and entertainment when you write M/M". Somehow, I find it hard to believe I mysteriously lose all writing skills when the gender of those involved in a relationship changes, which means it's a lot more likely that he's got a few issues. It's sad indeed that someone's personal prejudices are causing them to miss out on a good story, but alas I can't spend all my time catering to individual requests, particularly from people who don't seem to have the word please in their vocabulary and only ever address me in the imperative.
> 
> So! A Miraak/Dorian romance it is. If this bothers you, this is only chapter two. You're not invested yet. Bail out now and save us all the hassle if that is not your thing. In fact, if homosexuality bothers you, you shouldn't be reading my stuff, because queerness is everywhere in everything I write. There's one sole part of the complainer's comments I'm willing to honour, and that's the part where he said he didn't want to see 'Miraak putting his **** in the Sassy Gay Mage'.
> 
> *shrugs* OK then. Bottom!Miraak it is. Don't say I don't meet people half way.

A hard-fought battle, with Daedra, lots of Daedra, and one particularly large storm Daedra with an electric whip that even Miraak had been hard-pressed to ward against. But they’d won, and Miraak had got to show off Dragon Aspect to great acclaim from Varric and even Solas. Well, maybe acclaim wasn’t the right word, in fact now that he thought about it, Solas’s compliments had been a little backhanded, and Varric was definitely teasing, but he’d liked the attention.

Back to the village, which was apparently called Haven, and it hadn’t been the cells this time. They’d found him a cabin all to himself, with a fire and a bed, and they’d brought food and later a bath. True, he still had Templars guarding his door, but this was definitely an upgrade and they’d even given him his weapons back.

But the Breach, the big hole in the sky, was still there. Closing the root rift had stabilised but not closed it. It irked Miraak, even while people told him it was still an improvement.

Still there though. Not good enough. Its presence taunted him every time he went outdoors and had to look at it. It got to him even more than the staring. And the whispering. And the pointing. Especially from young women, and a few of the men, who’d stare too long and either blush and run away, or immediately start giggling with their friends. No one had given him trouble like this in his dragon priest days.

At least he wasn’t the only one with a mask. There were a few of them, overdressed, different accents to the rest of the village, masks not like his, they left far more of the face visible and were more ornate, but they were masked nonetheless. Orlesian, he found out later. Nobles from a mighty Empire to the west called Orlais, where the wearing of masks represented your role in public life, either as a guild member or public employee or a noble from a great house.

Miraak fingered his own, rarely removed except in his own cabin, and silently approved. The face of the Dragonborn dragon priest was all they needed to see. They didn’t need to see Miraak the man. Few had since he’d left the prison cell. And only his servants and occasionally the guards had seen his face in the last few days.

He approved of the servants though. Polite. Respectful. Knew their place and treated him as the demigod he was. All elves though. No humans. Strange. Evidently they were in a human land, and there was an elven land somewhere else their ancestors had emigrated from.

He’d need to ask. Day two had revealed that this organisation was the newly-formed Inquisition, Divine Justinia’s plan for if the peace talks she’d been chairing had failed, a quasi-religious military force intended to keep order. The talks had failed quite spectacularly, and so the Inquisition had been declared… and it had accepted him as one of them.

“So Chancellor Roderick isn’t going to drag me in chains to this… Val Royeaux,” Miraak said, hiding his relief well.

“No,” Cassandra said shortly. “We all saw the vision at the Temple. Solas says it was a projection from the Fade, a memory from the Breach’s formation. And you were nowhere to be seen. So yes, we believe you innocent, of that at least. That demons might take an unwary mage to the very Fade is... troubling, but it will work as a cautionary tale for young mages.”

“If it helps, I was not an innocent victim, and it was not a common occurrence,” Miraak offered. “If someone is transacting with demons to the extent I was, we would notice.”

“Oh, _that’s_ reassuring,” the blonde commander whose name was Cullen muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Someone may well have been – the explosion that killed the Divine must have required significant magical expertise and knowledge of the Fade,” Leliana the red-haired spymaster said sombrely. “And we have no idea who they are or what they want.”

“Don’t worry,” Miraak said, thinking over what he’d do. “I know the type. He has announced his existence in spectacular fashion. He will lose no time in telling us who he is and what he wants. I recommend preparing for an assault. It’s clear he cares little for negotiation – but we might be able to persuade him to talk about his plans.”

All eyes on Cullen who was raking his hands through his hair.

“Haven’s not built to withstand an armed invasion, it’s a pilgrimage site, not an army camp! If you think he might launch an attack… our best option is to relocate but that will take time. And where to?”

“I’ll have my scouts looking at paths out of Haven and store some caches in the wilderness,” Leliana promised. “And we can look into alternate bases. Josie, thoughts? There must be some out there willing to be allies to us.”

‘Josie’ was Ambassador Josephine Montilyet, a dark-skinned woman known for her fondness for gold silks and flamboyant jewellery – but personality-wise she’d turned out to be demure and modest and so polite to Miraak on their first meeting, he’d almost considered her mate material. Almost.

“With no Chantry support?” Josephine said, raising an eyebrow. “Few are willing to come to our aid for fear of being declared heretics, and I know of no one with a spare castle to host us. We will need to win those allies… but it does help that we have the only one who can close the rifts. Word of your heroism is spreading, my lord.”

Miraak really did have a lot of time for Ambassador Montilyet.

“It is?” he said, surprised.

“They’re calling you the Herald of Andraste,” Cassandra said, unsmiling. “They are telling wild stories of Andraste herself handing you out of the Fade to save us all. It would be difficult to stop them if we tried.”

“We have not tried,” Leliana added slyly and Miraak realised he had quite a lot of time for this one too. “It does us no harm to have Andraste’s Chosen pledging his support for our cause.”

“I’m flattered,” Miraak said, amused. “Who is Andraste? Should we send our thanks?”

Shock on Josephine’s face, nearly dropping her clipboard as she turned to Cullen then Leliana, and Cassandra had literally gasped.

“Who is Andraste?” she cried. “How have you never heard of her?”

“I was stuck in the Fade for years!” Miraak snapped. “How would I know who she is?”

“The Chantry of Andraste is nine hundred years old and her legend was known to all for two centuries before that,” Leliana said faintly. “Maker, were you in the Fade for over a thousand years??”

Miraak lowered his face, wondering if he should explain about Tamriel before deciding against it. And honestly, they weren’t wrong.

“As I said, it was a long time ago,” Miraak said quietly. “Yes, I know nothing of your world. I will need notes on everything – the history, the politics, this Chantry you speak of, Andraste’s story. The peace talks your Divine was presiding over.”

“I’ll ensure dossiers are sent to your cabin, my lord,” Josephine promised, while Cassandra promised to talk to the Chantry sisters in Haven, arrange for someone to teach him the basics of the Andrastian faith.

Miraak told her not to expect him to convert any time soon.

“They always told us conversion lies in the Maker’s hands, not ours,” Cassandra said, faint smile one her face. “We will provide you with the knowledge. The rest is up to him.”

Distant memories of Volsung delivering homilies on the grace of Akatosh Bormahu, the Creator of all who in his wisdom had sent the Dov to rule over them. Miraak had always been sceptical of the truth of this, particularly as the rest of the dragon priests were less than stellar examples of holiness. What with Hevnoraak devoting all his time to blood magic and necromancy, Krosis neglecting temple culture entirely and spending most of his time out in the wilds, and Otar being plain insane, Miraak had quietly decided religious faith made a good tool for keeping the masses pliant but was utterly useless for communing with the gods. Still, the dragons had come from somewhere. Why not Bormahu, Our Father?

He’d hold off on forming an opinion on Andraste though. Even though Leliana was mentioning a priestess of hers, a Mother Giselle, who was working out in the Fereldan Hinterlands, and who knew many of those left remaining in the Chantry hierarchy, and who might be able to help.

What use one priestess might be, Miraak had no idea, but there were some other useful leads out there, rifts to close and the chance to get out, see the world. Miraak found he was rather looking forward to it.

The meeting concluded, and everyone filed out – and Miraak was surprised to see Cullen stop him before he left.

“What?” Miraak asked. “Did you want to lecture me on my disreputable past?”

“No! Maker’s Breath, I- I was just going to ask if you were all right, that’s all. You were stuck in a demon realm for over a thousand years, how on earth are you still sane?”

_Of course I’m still sane._

“I endured,” was all Miraak was prepared to say on that one. “I was not harmed. There were books. I had pets. Time passes differently there anyway. I got away. That is all that matters. That and sealing the rifts.”

“Everything you knew is gone, that doesn’t bother you at all?” Cullen asked, still struggling to get his head round this.

“No,” Miraak said shortly. Saering had died. What else had Miraak even had to miss? “I will make a new life here. May it go better than the last one did.”

“You’re certainly strong-willed, I’ll give you that,” Cullen muttered. “Well, all right, I’ll leave you be. But… don’t keep it all bottled up inside. We all know you’ve got power the rest of us can only dream of, but you are allowed to be human as well, you know.”

Miraak had little time for such weakness. It was bad enough that his bodily functions had started up again, and he needed to eat, sleep and use the privy once more. The last thing he wanted was to unpack his emotions as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Travel to the Hinterlands took longer than expected, partly due to a horse shortage but also partly to a certain Dragonborn who was still adjusting to being outside again, particularly once down off the mountains.

Green, but not Apocrypha’s green. Leaf green, grass green, birds in the sky which was vividly, mercifully blue, and Miraak couldn’t get over it. Every step, every breath, he couldn’t help but think _free, I’m finally free_. It wasn’t the return he’d been planning, a return in triumph to rule Solstheim like he had before. It was a stumble out of the Fade, into a world entirely new to him, with people around him who mostly weren’t treating him like a god-king… although this Herald of Andraste business wasn’t bad either. He’d been reading the Chant of Light, learning more of the faith and Andraste’s story. Needless to say, he wasn’t converting, but some aspects of it resonated. Andraste’s Voice intrigued him too. Apparently it had got the attention of Bormahu himself, who’d taken her side and given her great power, including the power to persuade her warlord husband to overthrow Tevinter itself. Too bad she’d been too trusting and her own mate had betrayed her.

Miraak would never make that mistake, even as he crushed memories of Saering arguing with him about his methods, telling him he wasn’t the man he’d married, he was turning into the worst kind of despot. 

_“He only stole that bread to feed his family, he’s got three kids, the youngest is five! Just… just have him flogged or something, you don’t need to hang him!”_

_“Stealing from the temple is sinful, Saering. You know that. But perhaps you are right about the hanging. No, I will sacrifice him to Krosulhah instead. Why waste the meat.”_

_“What?? Miraak, you… this can’t be the will of Bormahu. It can’t!”_

_“The Dov will not find fault with it, I assure you.”_

Many such incidents and they’d all resulted in Saering getting a little colder, a little more withdrawn, until eventually he’d decided enough was enough and he was leaving. 

Miraak didn’t care to think about what had happened after that. Only that he’d lost Saering forever, and what had been the point after that? Any tender feelings he’d had, he’d crushed, and then he’d learnt Bend Will. Mortals had become his possessions and subjects from that moment on.

Would Saering have betrayed him to Tevinter? Quite possibly, and it gave Miraak some unsettling insights into the Andraste story. Every time they passed a statue of Maferath in mourning, usually neglected and abandoned but still there, Miraak had cause to reflect.

What if Maferath had betrayed Andraste not out of jealousy of the Maker or because the people loved her more, but because he thought she was turning into a malevolent despot. What if the mourning had been genuine because he’d loved her once.

It was an unsettling thought and he spoke of it to no one, partly because they’d rightly consider it heresy, and partly because he could do without people wondering what on Nirn had happened to him that he’d immediately think that. Bad enough those who knew what little he’d cared to tell of his history were looking at him with pity and sympathy. He didn’t need them starting to think that his lover had been the one to betray him to a demon lord because he feared what Miraak was becoming. 

No, it was enough for him to start to see Andraste as more of a peer and example rather than someone to worship. And a little reminder that maybe Bormah Akatosh, Our Father, Maker of All had not entirely abandoned him after all, but given him another chance.

To do what remained to be seen, but the sky needed repairing. The rifts needed sealing. The ones who’d killed the Divine needed finding and punishing. And then Miraak would see what remained. But right now, he was alive and free and breathing the fresh air of Vus once again. This wasn’t an end goal but here and now, it was enough.

Miraak wasn’t used to feeling happy and content. He’d not had those feelings in a long time. It felt odd… but he could definitely get used to this.

“You seem happy. May I take it you are enjoying the fresh air? I presume one trapped in the Fade might find the mortal world to take some getting used to.”

Solas. The elf. The elven apostate who much like him had appeared from nowhere, talked down his past and yet was far too magically skilled to be a mere wanderer. Someone had trained him at some point, and Miraak doubted it was just the spirits he liked to commune with. If it had been, that made him more dangerous, not less.

“Nothing does what I want unless I physically or magically make it happen. No one does what I want unless I give orders or use the Thu’um. I have to take care of bodily functions again. Things that were not even an issue in Oblivion are now pressing problems, from emptying my bladder to going to sleep. How do mortals cope with sacrificing eight hours of their life every night?? How do you get anything done?”

Solas raised an eyebrow.

“You do not relish the nightly return to the Fade in your dreams?”

Oh gods, that was all Miraak needed, his presence lighting up Oblivion every time he closed his eyes and Mora’s minions pursuing him.

“No,” Miraak said shortly. “Do you not think I’ve seen enough of the place? I was deprived of this world, of Vus or Mundus, for many human lifetimes. This is where I want to be, what I want to be doing. For all the downsides, it is worth being here. You do not realise how much you miss the open air and the blue sky until you have been deprived of it.”

Oddly Solas seemed confused. He’d had similar discussions previously with Varric and Cassandra, and they’d both sympathised with him, Cassandra in particular saying he must be pleased to feel the Maker’s creation around him again. Miraak had nodded non-committally, but in truth, he liked being out in nature again because it was as beautiful as it was invigorating. The Maker’s presence or absence made little difference.

“The world of dreams and spirits held no appeal at all?” Solas asked, seeming sad about that.

“No,” Miraak snapped. “It was a lurid green hell world. I wished mortal power and esteem in Vus, I had no desire to see Oblivion for myself. Alas I had little choice in the matter.”

“I suppose the realm of dreams encompasses nightmares as well as beauty. It remembers horrors, not just triumphs. Our emotions are not all positive, and if you were taken against your will, you will feel differently to one who sought it out. Yet the Fade has many treasures for those who care to look. Don’t write it off entirely.”

Miraak could at least agree that the Oblivion realms did hold great secrets and power. Whether it was worth the cost, however, was arguable. What was not arguable though was his reaction to Solas’s next words.

“Do you ever wonder what the world would be like with no Veil? If spirits could wander freely like the wind, like a force of nature.”

“That has to be the single worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Miraak said firmly. “Unleashing the Daedra on the world would destroy it.”

That and it would allow Mora to easily find him. He’d be a prisoner again and this time with no escape.

“They’re not all destructive!” Solas cried. “Yes, Fade energy can harm the unwary, just like a river can drown careless children, but that same river can also irrigate the fields that feed an entire town, or carry trade. It is the same with the Fade.”

“Carefully managed, yes, it can do those things,” Miraak agreed. “But dismantling the Veil is akin to blowing up a dam because the lake behind it flooded once useful farmland. You might get that land back but you destroy everything downstream. It is not worth the cost, Solas. The Veil was put there for a reason. Bormahu put it there for a reason and set the Dov to preserve it. Perhaps many of us strayed from our original path, and I was torn from it. But we never forgot it. I will repair the Veil and once it is up, it will stay up.”

Something in Solas’s eyes, something in his eyes closing up, and Miraak had the feeling he’d got to the elf. Good. Perhaps then he’d recant these ridiculous Veil removal ideas.

“You fought long and hard to escape the Fade, but are unwilling to extend the same charity to others?” Solas said, a hard look coming into his eyes.

“I’m human and Dragonborn, I was born in Vus, I belong here,” Miraak said firmly. “They are Daedra, formed in Oblivion, and they belong there. What is difficult about this concept, Solas.”

“Does that mean where you’re born should determine the entire course of your life?” Solas snapped. “If I was born in Orlais, does that mean I should never be able to visit Antiva? You call them Daedra, see them as power-hungry monsters, but the Fade reflects us. Maybe you attracted monsters because you sought power. But if we approached in a spirit of friendship, we might attract friendlier allies. They exist, I assure you. I have formed many friendships with them over the years.”

“And one may use you or turn on you yet,” Miraak pointed out. “When it does, don’t come running to me for help. I’ll certainly seal the Veil for you, destroy the spirit if I can. But saving you will be very much a secondary concern, if I think you brought it on yourself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Solas said dryly. “Didn’t your own misadventures get you trapped in the Fade?”

“Yes, but just as my own mistakes brought it about, so I relied on no one’s power but my own to return,” Miraak said, feeling rather proud of the fact. “Even the chance explosion that allowed it was not something I asked for or expected.”

And then something occurred to him, something so blindingly obvious he should have suspected something earlier. Someone had ripped a hole in the Veil. Someone who wished for a world with no Veil where spirits were an everyday occurrence might well have been involved. And like him, Solas seemed to have just appeared after the explosion and offered his services, and didn’t seem to have a backstory. Just a nameless wandering mage… who’d grown up in a world where magic was highly regulated and adult mages not attached to Circles could be killed with no consequence.

Miraak stared at Solas and realised something was very off about this mage.

_You have no proof._

_Let’s find it then._

_Do I accuse him?_

_No. Don’t tip him off, he already dislikes you. Watch him carefully. When back at Haven, have the Templars there watch him discreetly. Make sure he is not communicating with anyone._

He was sure Cullen the former Templar turned military commander could organise something. Or maybe Leliana. That was one good thing about the Circle apparatus. It made an excellent tool for controlling mages, and if Miraak had a mage enemy, it might be made to serve again. Seemed he might have one closer to home than he thought. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The mage-templar conflict was proving to be as deadly as feared if not worse. Dead mages riddled with arrows. Dead Templars burned alive in their armour. Dead civilians caught in the middle, their homes in ruins, and the survivors clustered in terror at a village called the Crossroads.

It had been under attack by mages and Templars when Miraak had arrived – or rather, they’d been fighting each other and hadn’t cared who’d got in the way.

At least not until the Dragon Aspect Shout had echoed round the village, and Ice Storm had stopped the mages’ sellswords in their tracks. The mage commanding them was a tougher prospect and the rune barrier was impressive… but it turned out Whirlwind Sprint got him over it and out of harm’s way before the explosion fired, and then impaling the mage was a simple matter.

The Templars were no more of a challenge. Unrelenting Force sent them flying, leaving them easy prey, and it turned out their magic-dispelling abilities did not work on Thu’um generated effects like Dragon Aspect.

“What are you?” one terrified Templar archer cried, fumbling at his bow as the very much uncowed mage who shouldn’t still have that dragon illusion flickering around him advanced.

“Miraak, and I am the one who will heal the Veil and restore order,” Miraak growled. “Run away, little Templar, and tell your fellows to either lay down their weapons and join me, or be left behind by the currents of time.”

He knew their type. Death in battle would be nothing to them, a martyr’s fate to be welcomed. But to be forgotten entirely, for their struggle to become meaningless… that might give them pause. 

“FAAS RU MAAR!” 

The terrified youngling took to his feet and fled, and the effect caused the last Templar standing to flinch… which was enough for Cassandra to run him through.

“Wow, Tentacles, you really do know how to get things done,” Varric said, observing the aftermath and while not all of this was Miraak’s doing, he had led the fight after all.

Miraak just nodded, asking where this Mother Giselle was.

They found her in one of the nicer huts on the edge of the village, reassuring an injured refugee that the healer mages were not to be feared.

Mara’s mercy, really? Miraak rolled his eyes, reached out a hand and cast Heal Other on the man, Restoration magic restoring him to full health in seconds.

“You’re welcome,” Miraak growled, staring at the stunned man who was staring at his hands and feet. “And while you’re right to fear me, that one is harmless. Don’t believe them when they tell you any mage is capable of disaster. It is not remotely true.”

Mother Giselle placed a hand on her patient’s shoulder and whispered to him, before beckoning for two other Chantry sisters to help him away, now he technically didn’t need the bed any more.

“Harm and disaster are relative terms, messere,” Giselle said, getting to her feet and dropping a light curtsey. “What may seem nothing to a powerful man such as yourself may be everything to the common folk. But the healing magic was welcome. Still, his body is one thing. Healing an already frightened man without his consent may have damaged his mind, and that is a harder ill to treat.”

“Tell him I’m Andraste’s Herald then,” Miraak said, shrugging and fighting off memories of Saering arguing with him over constantly forcing people to do things when he could have just asked. “Would the blessing of his goddess make him feel better?”

“We worship her as Maker’s Bride, messere,” Giselle replied calmly. “The Maker is the only god. And whether you are truly Andraste’s Herald is a matter for debate – and that debate is certainly being had. But you have also been given great power, and a gift we sorely need right now. Whether it is providence or the Maker’s blessing is not for me to say. But I do believe we need you.”

It wasn’t quite the unquestioned loyalty he’d hoped for but she was being polite at least… and someone who admitted he was needed could always be useful.

“Would I be speaking with Mother Giselle?” Miraak asked. “If so, my advisors inform me you might be willing to assist us regarding the Chantry. They seem to believe we are all godless heretics intent on blaspheming our way to power and that I murdered the Divine. May I assure you I did not. My interest here is in repairing the Veil and bringing justice to the one who broke it in the first place. Demons and spirits have their own place. We have ours. Trafficking between the two is… perilous.”

He was aware of Solas looking incredibly uncomfortable as he said this. Good. Because Mother Giselle’s distrust seemed to have waned considerably.

“That is surprising to hear, there are many mages who seem to think otherwise. Myself, I have always believed that our primary concern should be this world that the Maker has given us. Let Him look after the next. It is this belief that drives me to be here tending to those made homeless by this conflict between the mages and Templars rather than in Val Royeaux playing politics over Justinia’s successor. I knew her, messere. She was a good friend of mine. She would want us to be out there helping people, not fighting amongst ourselves. Choosing a new Divine is useless while the world burns. We should put out the fire first. And if that is your aim as well… I would be happy to assist the Inquisition. I merely wished to see if your intent was truly to help the common people before pledging my support. Now I have seen and I believe your heart is in the right place.”

Miraak made a mental note not to underestimate this one. She was clearly not a fool.

“So you’re willing to help a declared heretic,” Miraak said, wishing to get that established once and for all. “Won’t the Chantry disapprove?”

“Without a Divine, we are left to our own consciences, and mine tells me this,” Giselle said, watching him carefully. “That you did not cause the explosion. That if the stories about you being able to seal rifts are true, we need your help. That we should work together in the current crisis. And that while some of my sisters are grandstanding in a bid for personal power, most are simply terrified. Terrified people do not make good decisions, messere. But with no official leader, their main power is in their united voice. If all the Grand Clerics and Revered Mothers are publicly denouncing you, you are in trouble. But if a few start to offer diverging opinions… let me put it this way, you needn’t convince them all. You just need a few to simply… doubt.”

Miraak caught her meaning.

“Rul kodaav krif grohiik, driin los stin,” Miraak said thoughtfully. “When bear fights wolf, the deer goes free. If they are busy arguing amongst themselves, they are no longer a threat to me. The faithful will see the fighting, realise it is politics rather than doctrine and lose interest. And then they might make their own decisions.” 

“That they might,” Giselle said, nodding. “But you must give them a credible alternative to believe in. The Hinterlands is bleeding and it needs you. I must go to Haven to meet with your spymaster and ambassador, assist with your efforts. In return, I will need Inquisition troops to safeguard the refugees here. And if you are seen openly providing assistance personally… it can only aid your reputation.”

That was going to involve a fair bit of work, but Miraak already had soldiers on the way. They could discourage invaders and possibly take care of the more mundane tasks for him. Food. Supplies. These people would need all that. Inquisition soldiers might track some of this down. But as for ending the threat… dealing with those committing the violence was the only way to truly end it. That part, Miraak had no problem with.

“Very well, Mother,” Miraak replied. “We’ll do what we can.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

In the days and weeks to come, the Hinterlands rang with the sound of battle, a new force entering the fray, the Thu’um echoing in hills and valleys and two names on everyone’s lips.

Inquisition. Miraak.

“The Lord Herald was here, and sealed the rift outside my house! And he even killed the Templars that murdered my husband and brought his wedding ring back! I never thought a human would lift a finger for a poor elven widow…”

“I told the Herald we needed food, and that the rams in the hills would do, and he had his soldiers bring us ten of them and some breeding pairs! No one else is helping like the Inquisition are…”

“The refugees were close to freezing and he turned up with some caches he’d found. Didn’t like to ask where he’d got them but it’s saved lives, no doubt of that.”

“Have you heard? The fighting on the King’s Road’s stopped! Turns out there was a Templar camp just off it, and the Inquisition wiped it out with that Herald of theirs leading the fight! They say he’s not like a normal mage. Templars can’t stop his Voice like they can ordinary magic. Do you… do you think his voice is like Andraste’s was?”

“The Witchwood’s calmer now. Herald got rid of the rifts, and a demon that was haunting this old cabin, and turns out there was a camp of apostates there! He got rid of them too. I’ve heard he says demons have no place in the mortal world. I know he’s a mage and all but… he’s not like the apostates, is he? He’s one of the good mages, right? I mean, there must be some.”

“My son came back from that cult in the hills, just in time to save his mother’s life. He says Lord Miraak’s got power over the very Veil and orders those rifts to close and they just do! The entire cult’s converted to following him now, and he’s got them spreading the word and helping people as part of the Inquisition. My boy’s staying to help people here but once it calms down a bit he says he’s off to Haven to join up, they’ll need alchemists. I wish he wasn’t going, but I’m so proud.”

“I can’t believe someone like Lord Miraak rescued my druffalo but he did, and he did in that rift in the valley too. Can’t believe the bleedin’ Herald of Andraste patted my Druffy on the back and told her she was an honourable warrior. She did in a bandit apparently. Bloody hell…”

“So… I was out in Hafter’s Woods – I know, Mam, I know you said not to go there, but the healers want Crystal Grace, they’re offering serious amounts of coin for it, and there’s loads of it out there… just listen, all right? I was out there picking herbs, and there was this massive bear, three of them in fact, and I thought I was a goner right there. Then he turned up, the Herald of Andraste himself, and he shouted at one of the bears, then next thing I knew, that bear was fighting the others, and when they killed it, he shouted at one of the surviving two, and they were fighting each other too, and then the last one was injured so badly it barely raised a claw to fight back and he and his friends killed it. Maker’s Breath, I don’t know how he did it, but three big bears like that?? And they just did what he told them? I don’t know, Mam, I don’t know what magic it was, but I didn’t see no blood, not his anyway. But… he saved me, Mam.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“They’re telling a great many stories about you,” Cassandra said, trying unsuccessfully to sound casual as she joined him. Miraak was standing aside from the rest of the camp, surveying the remains of the woods, trying to work out why Hafter’s Wood looked like it had been on fire. A demon maybe? There was a rift in a cave nearby, it could have come from there. But that was tomorrow’s job. Tonight apparently meant talking with Cassandra, who probably wouldn’t be good mate material but might do in a pinch if no one else offered.

“We’ve done a great many things,” Miraak said, shrugging. “We made no secret of it. Let them talk.”

“They are doing,” Cassandra said, folding her arms to keep warm in the chill night air as she gazed out into the night. “The Inquisition is gaining recruits left, right and centre as word spreads. You’re responsible for that, you know. They are telling tales of your deeds and think you a hero. The mage whose Voice Templars can’t stop, which is making people think of Andraste’s Voice. The mage who speaks out against getting involved with demons, which sets you apart from apostates. You have helped a great many people and saved a great many lives, which is certainly getting people talking. I am impressed. It will give the Chantry Mothers in Val Royeaux something to think about. But I had questions about your Voice magic. What is it exactly? It isn’t standard magic. Templars can’t dispel it. It is almost like a Templar’s power in fact. You speak and the world is compelled to obey you. How did you learn it? Solas says it is an ancient Avvar legend, a gift given by the gods.”

“Perhaps it is,” Miraak said, amused. “It is as good as any other. I already told you it is the language of dragons, Dovahzul. Any can learn that language but it is easier to teach it to children. I started learning it from the village priest after my magic flowered. I was just seven, too young to join the priesthood, but I picked up Dovahzul like it was my mother tongue. Some words in that language are Rotmulaag – words of power. Learn their meaning, take their power into yourself, and you can Shout them, and they affect the world. The mighty Dov do this naturally. Mortals have to learn the art and it is normally an effort for them… but I picked it up like a dragon would. So they called me dragon-blooded, or Dragonborn. Dovahkiin in Dovahzul. I have honed that art like none other and I use it as I must. I am presently using it to aid your cause.”

“Yes… but we could have killed those bears without you using it, I am sure,” Cassandra said, pursing her lips and turning to frown at him. “You shouted at the bear and took over its mind. A power normally known only to blood mages, and yet your Voice can replicate it.”

“My Voice does much,” Miraak agreed, and then he remembered the strictures on magic. Meant to serve man, not rule over him. Andraste’s words, aimed at Tevinter mage lords who kept slaves but now used to keep mages out of positions of leadership, and society in general. And magic involving blood in particular was forbidden. Miraak had thought himself safe from that. He knew very little of blood magic – that was the sort of thing vampires and Reachmen did.

“I’m no blood mage, Seeker,” Miraak said, lowering his voice. “It’s never had any appeal for me. Too messy.”

“One who can order the world to obey him likely has no need of it,” Cassandra said firmly. “The Chantry has no laws on the Voice because no one has previously wielded it. But previous Divines have unequivocally condemned the use of magic to harm the innocent or remove the free will of another. If you are found using your Voice to do that to other human beings – or for that matter, elves or dwarves or even Qunari – the Inquisition will not be able to protect you. As it is, today you harmed only wild beasts and you saved that farm girl’s life. I felt you deserved a warning.”

“Understood,” Miraak said softly. “Thank you.”

Gods damn it. The Shout he’d ended up in Oblivion in the first place for, his signature power, the one he instinctively reached for first and it would get him punished. Cassandra had already told him her order, the Seekers, were immune to mind control. Were they immune to the Thu’um too?

He didn’t know and couldn’t risk testing this. No matter. He’d find other ways to get his way. Maybe he wouldn’t need to coerce people if they already believed he was a god.

The way they were starting to talk about him, it seemed he was halfway there already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miraak surprised me by cottoning on to Solas so early, but they have eerily similar backstories, they're both powerful mages emerging from exile to change the world and Miraak's naturally paranoid. Of course he'd suspect.
> 
> Next up, the visit to Val Royeaux, which might well mean Redcliffe appearing as soon as chapter 4 or 5! And then the fun starts.


	3. The City of Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Inquisition's reputation on the rise, it's time to go to Val Royeaux, the Orlesian capital that is also the Chantry's headquarters, to see if they can't get this whole heretic business settled. Dealing with preachy Chantry Mothers was expected. But the presence of several other interested parties, all with an interest in the mysterious masked Herald, was not, and the outcomes could be most interesting indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miraak in Val Royeaux! Miraak the Dragon Priest has seen a lot of things, but he's never seen Orlais before. And it shows. Someone is very much loving the idea of an entire culture where no one thinks it's odd he's never seen without the mask. Also someone is after a fight. And also horny. These two things are related.

Val Royeaux, the city of masks. Capital of Orlais, rising like a jewel above the vast artificial lakes surrounding it, even the harbour brightly painted and cleaner than expected. And masks everywhere. Nobles with their ornate bejewelled ones, servants with their cheaper versions of the nobles’, guards with masks built into their helms… and among them all strode the new arrival, masked himself, gazing about him and suddenly feeling right at home.

He’d seen Dragon Temples. He’d seen the City of Kings and Bromjunaar itself, all imposing stone edifices with dragons soaring above. But he’d seen nothing like this.

Sunny, warm, not covered in snow, and it was _gleaming_. Like someone had melted down all their jewellery and built a city out of it. Miraak hadn’t even thought it possible that something could be this beautiful. Thank Akatosh for the mask, because without it he’d look like a slack-jawed barbarian.

“So where are we going, Seeker?” Varric was asking Cassandra.

“The Summer Bazaar. The Revered Mothers are gathering there. There’s one of our people, look.”

“Seeker Pentaghast! My lord Herald! The Revered Mothers are waiting – but so are a great many Templars.”

That had not been part of the plan. Yes, yes, he could probably take them… but there would also be civilians around, the numbers weren’t in their favour and he couldn’t necessarily protect the others, and he really didn’t want to risk damaging Val Royeaux. It was just too pretty. Maybe that was the plan. Build a city too nice to sack.

“I did not expect Templars here,” Cassandra was saying, concerned. “They had all left the Chantry in protest at the Divine being too lenient towards the mage rebellion. Now they are back? I cannot imagine Lord Seeker Lucius just returning to the fold after all that’s happened.”

“Perhaps he is not returning to the fold. Perhaps he is returning to take over,” Miraak mused.

“Impossible. Men do not hold leadership roles in the Chantry,” Cassandra said dismissively. True enough but these were not normal times… and whoever had the biggest army usually decided the rules.

“Maybe he aims to change that. If he does… perhaps I’ll take advantage myself,” Miraak said, finding that idea amusing.

“His Holiness Lord Miraak, the Tentacled One. That’s all we need,” Varric laughed, shaking his head. Miraak reined in the urge to shout him into the lake.

“I am having difficulty imagining anyone giving Miraak the title of His Holiness, although I’m sure he’d like being called His Perfection,” Solas said, which was annoying precisely because it was true.

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! We gather here to mourn our beloved Divine, her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer? Wonder no more!”

The speaker was a Chantry priestess, who Cassandra identified as one Revered Mother Hevara, orating her heart out to a crowd of masked onlookers, many of whom backed away from Miraak in horror. Miraak did note the instinctive way they looked at their eye-level, realised they weren’t looking at his face then had to look up to see the mask. They all did it, every single one. Extremely gratifying. It really was great being taller than nearly everyone else.

He folded his arms and stared up at the Revered Mother, who was preaching from a raised dais and as reported, there were Templars present, all looking somewhat nervously at him.

“Ridiculous. Had I truly killed your Divine, I would not be here like this. I would bring an army,” Miraak snapped. “I’m here today in peace. You should be thankful for this. I am not a man to make an enemy of.”

“That’s right, Tentacles, start with the veiled threats, that’ll win them over,” he heard Varric sigh. Really, the dwarf should be grateful he was entertaining.

“Empty threat from a false prophet! The Maker would send no mage in our hour of need!”

“Should we fix the Breach with swords then?” Miraak asked. “I doubt it will work.”

When his magic had flowered, his mother had cried and his father looked sad but it was because they’d known then that their little boy was being called to a higher destiny than their little village could ever give him and that it was goodbye, even though he’d not left home for another nine years. It had been a sign of the gods’ favour, a sign of destiny and future leadership. Mages were exactly who Bormahu sent. Miraak still wasn’t used to a society where the opposite was true.

“If you wish the world mended, you will need my aid,” Miraak added. “Help me seal the Breach, and we will all benefit.”

“It’s true!” Cassandra cried. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

“It is already too late!” the priestess snapped. “The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face your Inquisition and the people will be safe once more!”

She’d barely finished speaking when a Templar’s gauntleted fist collided with the back of her head and sent her sprawling to the ground, much to the horror of the citizens around him.

“So,” Miraak said quietly. “It appears we have a worse person than me for them to fear.”

“Were you hoping to win the title back?” Solas queried, and Miraak was more than tempted to damn evidence, just throttle Solas on the spot. But no. Not here, not in front of witnesses. Deal with this upstart lokendov first.

“Well done,” Miraak announced, letting his voice carry as he turned to address the lead Templar. “Your forces successfully knocked out an unarmed old woman. The bards shall sing of your deeds forever in the halls of Orlais. Lord Seeker Lucius, bane of grandmothers everywhere.”

Miraak stepped forward, seeing a man in his fifties with impressive armour and probably the skills to do damage… but not something to tremble in fear of.

“I am a little harder to deal with,” Miraak said, feeling adrenaline rise, everything in him gearing up for a fight, all ready to deal with this volahzey joor once and for all.

The surrounding citizens were all gasping in fright and clearing the area, leaving a wide area for Miraak and this Lord Seeker to size each other up in.

“Her claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own,” Lord Seeker Lucius said, narrowing his eyes, voice cold and flat. “The Templars have had their righteous swords leashed by the likes of her for too long. Now is our time to claim what is ours by right, and a heretical movement led by an apostate will not stand in our way.”

“Too late. We are already in your way,” Miraak purred, liking where this was going. By Stuhn, he’d been hankering for a real fight for weeks. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“Herald!” Cassandra gasped, gauntleted hand smacking into his chest with far more force than he’d expected to hold him back. “We are here to negotiate not start a fight. Lord Seeker, it’s imperative we speak-”

“You will not address me!” Lucius snapped, even as Miraak staggered back, winded and gasping out an expletive in Atmoran, making a mental note never to underestimate Cassandra. The woman could hold her own in a fight.

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet – you should be ashamed!” 

“I am not a puppet!” Miraak protested as he managed to get his breath back. Lord Seeker Lucius ignored him.

“You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages. You are the ones who have failed! You who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear!”

“Oh, you will know fear before I’m done with you,” Miraak growled, fingers itching towards his sword. Lord Seeker Lucius did not rise to the bait. Unfortunately.

“If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late! The only destiny here that demands respect is mi-”

“VO ROT NAHLOT!”

Lord Seeker Lucius’s mouth moved but no words came out, his face going scarlet as he realised he couldn’t talk.

“Forgive me, I could bear not another word of that man’s ramblings,” Miraak said cheerfully, letting his own voice carry. “As you can see, the rumours of my Voice having power are true. He can talk… but can his words do _that?_ Templars, if you truly wish to fight a righteous battle, come to Haven and pledge your blades to me.”

Lord Seeker Lucius’s face was a picture of rage but with no ability to actually give orders or argue, there was nothing he could do. Indicating for his troops to follow, he led them out with as much dignity as he could muster. Miraak watched him go, smirking behind the mask and going to treasure this moment for a long time to come.

Of course, despite Varric sniggering, and even Solas unable to keep a grin off his face, Cassandra was less than pleased.

“We were trying to impress them and obtain their aid, not antagonise them further!” Cassandra cried.

“Oh don’t tell me you weren’t thinking it too,” Miraak said dismissively. “You must be the only one in this market who wasn’t. I don’t need their posturing fool of a leader. I just need enough of them to defect to reduce the Breach’s power for me.”

“And you think they will,” Cassandra said, sceptical of this.

“I think that young man with the dark skin was already doubting,” Miraak said, remembering how he’d looked with concern at the felled priestess. “There will be others, especially when word of their leader’s humiliation spreads. An army with no faith in its leader is nothing. He believes might is what gives you the right to rule, and I proved the might was mine. Mission accomplished.”

“Our mission was to win Chantry support,” Cassandra said tersely. True enough, Miraak supposed. So off to see how the concussed Chantry Mother was doing.

Conscious, it turned out, but still very woozy, two Chantry sisters helping her sit up. Miraak took pity on her. She’d already lost.

Healing magic flared from his hands, and despite shrieks from the crowd, Revered Mother Hevara shook her head and motioned for the sisters to stand back. As Miraak finished, she shook her head, rubbed the back of her neck and motioned for someone to help her up.

“I… thank you,” she said awkwardly. “They did not tell me you were a healer, messere.”

Oh, so now it was messere, was it? Not false prophet or heretic, but messere. People were so easily swayed.

“I have many talents,” Miraak said, shrugging. “In between all the blasphemy and heresy, I am actually a skilled mage… and those who claim my Voice has power were not wrong.”

“It’s true, Mother, he just shouted at the Lord Seeker and he couldn’t talk any more!” one of the Chantry sisters gasped, looking at him in awe. Miraak just inclined his head.

“It will wear off. Unfortunately. But I could feel myself becoming stupider with every word out of his mouth. I felt compelled to act.”

Mother Hevara was still shaking her head.

“You cannot possibly be the new prophet of Andraste,” she said, still disbelieving. “The Maker would not… he can’t have…”

“Can’t he?” Miraak asked. “A god may do as he wishes, may he not?”

“The Chant says the Maker has turned from us for our impiety,” one of the sisters whispered. “For letting Andraste die.”

“Then perhaps he thinks you’ve suffered enough,” Miraak said, shrugging. “It does not matter. We could spend hours speculating on the will of Our Father, and we would still get nowhere. We must deal with the problem in front of us instead. I have a Breach to seal, Mother. It would be easier on all of us if you could allow us to get on with it rather than insisting we are heretics. I care not what you believe about me. I only care if you are helping me or not. If you can’t bring yourself to offer support, at least step out of the way.”

Both Chantry sisters had lowered their heads, whispering agreement. Hevara was made of sterner stuff, but even she could see that she could do little about the situation.

“Go then, Lord Herald,” Hevara said wearily. “We tried denouncing you and what good did it do? If it is within your power, seal the Breach. Succeed… and we may be able to work with you. Fail and it will not matter.”

No, it wouldn’t. So. He needed to prove himself first. Very well. He’d prove himself… and then the world would see whose Thu’um had the mastery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Of course, there were people after his attention still. One market trader who had contacts and could get the Inquisition supplied. One nervous young mage who turned out to be a messenger from Montsimmard Circle, inviting him to a salon hosted by First Enchanter Vivienne.

And… an arrow that thudded into the ground nearby with a note. The archer had been hiding on one of the balconies nearby, a figure in red disappearing into the shadows.

Miraak glared after it.

“Your aim was off,” he muttered.

“No, they were sending a message,” Varric said, retrieving the note. “Literally – oh. No. Friends of Red Jenny. Tentacles, I’m not sure you want to get involved with this lot, they’re insane.”

“Give me the note and tell me more of them,” Miraak said, taking the letter from him.

“Well, they’re a little like a thieves guild or assassination guild, except they’re neither. Or both. Or… look, you can ask a favour from them in causing trouble for someone powerful, but the trouble isn’t something you get to pick. And the cost is that if they later need a favour off you, you have to help them. Unreliable is one way of looking at it. Chaos is another.”

Miraak had spent too long in Chaos’s grasp for this to sit easily with him… but it looked like they were offering to help him.

_“People say you're special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone._

_There's a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the red things in the market, the docks, and 'round the cafe, and maybe you'll meet him first. Bring swords._

_Friends of Red Jenny_

_PS. Nice trick with getting Lord Seeker Loser-pants to shut up back then. I’d have pinged him myself but don’t need the guards on my back. Anyone feeling the need to have Lord in front of their name, that’s bad.”_

“Well, Lord Miraak, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Varric said cheerfully, patting his elbow. Miraak glanced at the second page, a crudely drawn map of the bazaar with three Xs, likely marking the red things the letter mentioned. They had some things to find. 

An hour later and Miraak had a time, location of a secret courtyard and a key to gain access. Interesting. All seemed to be gifts from various people who were paying back favours to the Friends – people who, from the standard of spelling, hadn’t had access to reliable education.

It was worth looking into, but for now, time to head back to the hotel. It wasn’t the best one in Val Royeaux but it was comfortable and still more ornate than anything Miraak had stayed in so far.  
And then an elven woman with dark hair, green eyes, olive skin and a Circle mage’s robes stepped out of the shadows.

“Lord Herald Miraak. It is you, isn’t it? Of course it is, I saw you in the market and heard your Voice, it could be no other. May I congratulate you on your handling of the Lord Seeker. I don’t know how exactly that voice magic works… but it amused me greatly today.”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Cassandra said, narrowing her eyes. Miraak recalled the name from the briefings he’d read. The former leader of the Circle mages, who’d called the vote that led to the mage rebellion and led them into hiding. Well. Sanctuary in Ferelden anyway. The apostates who’d been out there fighting Templars only to be killed by Miraak in turn were a breakaway faction, apparently. “Shouldn’t you be in Redcliffe with the other rebel mages?”

“Since the Circles fell, mages don’t have to be anywhere unless they feel like it, or hadn’t you heard, Seeker?” Fiona said, voice a little too sweet. All right, Miraak liked this one. Possibly a little old for mate material though.

Cassandra growled at her, but Miraak stepped forward, keen to hear what the Grand Enchanter had to say.

“We did need mages to help close the Breach,” Miraak said, his interest caught. “Are you offering help?”

“Not yet, but your efforts in the Hinterlands haven’t gone unnoticed and your efforts today impressed,” Fiona said, still smiling that damnable knowing smile. “Consider this an invitation. Come to Redcliffe, meet with the mages. We might be able to help each other out.”

It was a better offer than he’d get from Lord Seeker Lucius, although he’d be mad to entirely trust her just yet. Still, he agreed and Fiona left, promising him he wouldn’t regret it.

He had no way of knowing it yet, but the visit to Redcliffe would change his life in ways he couldn’t even imagine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Night time in Val Royeaux and a key turned in a lock, a door to a courtyard opening… and guards raising the alarm.

“FUS RO DAH!” 

So much for stealth. One went flying, lightning hit another, and then Cassandra skewered one and Varric shot the last man standing.

Minions only though. Their master was likely behind this door.

Miraak only just dodged the fireball. Gods damn, he’d not been expecting a mage.

“Inquisition!” the masked nobleman who was also an apostate mage cried. “How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened you immensely!”

“Not at all,” Miraak said smoothly. “You left yourself wide open. Introductions are in order, are they not?”

“Introd- you don’t fool me!” the mage snapped. “No matter. My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!”

“Hey! Just say what!”

“What,” Miraak growled, annoyed at the interruption. The speaker turned out to be a young elven girl in scruffy red clothes and blonde hair that looked like someone had cut it using a pudding bowl and a knife… and a bow pointed at the noble.

“What is the meaning of th- arrgfhg!”

An arrow hit him in the eye and he fell back, dead. The elf grimaced and put her bow away.

“Ugh! Squishy one but you heard me, right? Just say what! Rich tits always try for more than they deserve.”

Everyone else he’d met so far, Miraak had managed to understand thanks to the Thu’um but this elf was testing his comprehension. A glance at Varric reassured him – the dwarf didn’t seem to understand her either.

“Don’t look at me, Tentacles, I’m as confused as you are.”

“What? It’s simple, right?” the elf said, surprised. “I said ‘just say what’. You managed it. He just couldn’t stop himself and now he’s dead. Look, my name’s Sera, this is cover, get round it!”

“Why?” Miraak asked, mentally writing this one off as not mate material under any circumstances whatsoever.

“For the reinforcements, of course! Don’t worry. Someone tipped me their tool shed. They’ve got no breeches!”

The elf was clearly insane, but she proved to be right as the invading soldiers were fully armoured from the waist up… but bare legged and clad only in underwear and boots from the waist down.

It did make targeting his spells easier, Miraak allowed that. But why in the name of all that was holy couldn’t the insane elf have taken their weapons??

Finally the fight was done, and Miraak checked everyone on their side was alive then looked for the elf.

She was staring at a patch of tentacles from his staff, then turned to him, vaguely horrified.

“All right, what the fuck was that. Look, I can handle mages with fireballs and that, and that thing with your voice is a bit weird but OK, but you’ve got a staff that fires tentacles??”

“Yes,” Miraak said, patting it rather proudly. “I stole it from a demon. He had me prisoner in the Fade. When I escaped, I made off with a few of his things.”

Sera did cheer up a little at that, laughing nervously. 

“What, seriously? I mean, they said you fell out of a rift but I thought the bit about you being some demon’s prisoner was made up. I mean, I thought all of it might be made up, to be honest. But you’ve got the mask and the voice and… you seriously got taken prisoner by a demon, nicked his stuff and escaped?”

“Yes,” Miraak admitted, not troubling to hide his amusement because when you put it like that, it was pretty funny. “And now I am intending to close the rifts, partly because Vus and Feim, this world and the Fade, should not meet, but also because none wish the demon in question coming to find me.”

“Eww!” Sera giggled. “Creepy tentacle demon from the Fade whose stuff you nicked coming to get revenge?? No thanks!”

“Precisely,” Miraak told her. “Still. The demon in question was a demon of knowledge. I suspect you are safe from him.”

“Too bloody right,” Sera said proudly, folding her arms… and then the penny dropped. “Wait, are you saying I’m thick?? Pretty certain he’s saying I’m thick!”

Varric was laughing, Solas was smirking and Cassandra was huffing at him again but he was used to all that. What he wasn’t used to was half-mad elves glaring at him, but at the same time he sensed he was in no real danger. All the same, best to be polite.

“Not at all,” Miraak said smoothly. “I just don’t see the secret magic and knowledge of the Fade as having any appeal for you. Do you spend a lot of time in arcane libraries?”

“No,” Sera said, shuddering. “Look, I go for jewellery, money, weapons, heirlooms, embarrassing secrets nobles don’t want getting out. Not creepy shit that glows or summons demons. Bad enough that some knob killed the Divine and broke the sky and now there’s rifts and demons everywhere. Look, you’re him, right? The all-shouting Herald of Andraste who fell out of the Fade and can shout rifts shut? Well, I want to help. Me and my Friends.”

“The Friends of Red Jenny,” Miraak recalled. “Tell me of them. What help are you bringing? Spies?”

“Yes. No. Sort of,” Sera sighed. “Look, you’ve got your big knobs, waving their… big knobs. And you’ve got their little knives, lurking in the shadows, all polishing their… little knives. And then there’s all the little people. Doing ordinary jobs. Cooking. Cleaning. Wiping. Ugh. Wiping – anyway. Point is, unless you don’t eat, sleep or piss, you’re never far away from someone little. And the little people are always looking to stick it to some noble they hate. I mean, look at him. Some posh bastard with all his spies and soldiers and what did him in? Some house boy, who don’t know shite but knows a bad person when he sees one.”

Miraak had gone very still and very quiet, because there were servants in and out of his cabin every day, sweeping the floor, emptying the chamber pot, changing the sheets, bringing his meals, doing his laundry… fucking hell. Who employed them. Who’d vetted them?? Any one of them could be an assassin. At least they left his weapons and mask well alone.

Miraak made a mental note to keep an eye on them and not abuse them. Not give them a reason to turn traitor. And maybe keep this Sera where he could see her.

“So, you assist servants with their grievances and in return they provide information or some other assistance,” Miraak mused. “What for? What’s your aim?”

“Aim? Wherever I’m pointing my bloody bow is where I’m aiming,” Sera said, clearly confused. “Look, it’s like this. I grease a noble’s dance floor so he slips over, injures himself and has to hunt sprained the next day. In return his servants leave his vault open. His valuables pay off someone else who keeps the streets clean in Kirkwall. And so on, and so on, pish pish pish. We don’t have an aim. Just fucking over the big knobs and making the world a little bit brighter, in lots of little ways. And we can do that better if the sky’s not raining demons all over the place. So here we are. The Friends of Red Jenny. The little people, here when you need them, in lots of little ways. Sound good to you, all-touched Lord Herald?”

All touched? No one had touched him in… Miraak couldn’t even remember how long it had been since someone had touched him with affection. Not since Saering had died, and Saering’s affection had been waning before that.

Miraak hadn’t been prepared for the loneliness to hit him. He was a Dragonborn, the First, a mighty warrior-priest, a lord of all. He should be above such base weaknesses. 

But underneath the mask lurked a human with needs and Miraak missed the feel of a warm body in his arms, someone he could let his guard down around, someone he could truly have tinvaak with. Miraak, for all he tried to deny it, was lonely.

Sera definitely wasn’t the cure for that, but the insane elf would probably be good for entertainment. So, despite his better judgement, Miraak agreed, and the Friends of Red Jenny became Friends of the Inquisition.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The following night, and Miraak was alone, standing outside a fine Orlesian chateau outside Val Royeaux, the normally confident First Dragonborn feeling anything but. 

It put Val Royeaux’s market place to shame. This house and everyone in it was elegant, fashionable, stylish, likely the cream of Orlesian society and this wasn’t even a big party. Just a salon hosted by the First Enchanter of Montsimmard. A powerful mage, by all accounts. Not part of the rebellion. What her interest in the Inquisition was, Miraak had no idea, but it was worth finding out. 

Of course, first he had to get over his nerves and walk into this fancy party. This was ridiculous. He was the First Dragonborn. He shouldn’t be intimidated by a mere social gathering. Besides the carriage had disappeared. No ride home for him unless he went in there, tracked down Vivienne and found out why she wanted to see him.

So a deep breath and in he went, presenting his invitation at the door and being ushered in by a deferential footman, as if he too were an important noble.

 _I am an important man,_ he told himself. Herald of Andraste. Former dragon priest. First Dragonborn. About time these Orlesians saw that for themselves. 

He hoped. And he’d barely made it into the vestibule before two of them were on him. A man and a woman, and the masks did little to hide the fact they knew who he was and were excited to see him. 

“Are you him? Are you the Herald? We’ve heard the most exciting stories about you!”

“Even if not, it is good to see a new face for once,” the man added. “Always the same crowd at these parties. Lord Miraak, it is a pleasure.”

Miraak wondered what he’d been worried about. No one looking strangely at the mask – why would they, they all had their own. Josephine had explained the basic principle behind it – an Orlesian in public represented their family, their house, their profession and wore a mask indicating that. Only in private did they remove the mask and feel able to be their true selves. Miraak had fingered his own and understood instinctively. Miraak the dragon priest was not the same person who’d taken the mask off at night and taken Saering into his arms.

And Miraak the Herald was something else entirely. Miraak the Herald was here to save the world and impress the world, and if the world was impressed, so much the better.

“Many of those stories are likely exaggerated,” Miraak told them, amused. “What have you heard?”

“Oh, so much!” the woman gasped. “We heard Andraste herself guided you from the Fade to seal the Breach and the rifts, and that you can become a thousand feet tall and breathe fire!”

Miraak laughed and was about to deny everything when he recalled that last one was true.

“I cannot become a thousand feet tall, but they were right about the fire-breathing,” he told her, rather liking her excited gasping. The man looked impressed too, and hang the First Enchanter, he was taking these two away with him for the evening.

At least he was until another man entered the scene, stepping down the steps behind him and sneering. Really, these Orlesian masks were completely useless for emotional subterfuge.

“What a load of pigshit. Everyone knows the Inquisition is just a load of washed-up Sisters and crazed Seekers. It’s only a matter of time before you’re laughed out of town.”

Miraak slowly turned to face this foolish, foolish joor who’d just ruined his evening and likely dashed the chances of a threesome. The Orlesian couple were hastily retreating and Miraak cursed his luck. It wouldn’t have been affection and certainly not tinvaak but it would have been fun. And now instead he had this annoyance to deal with.

That might also be fun.

“You’re a very brave man to say this to my face,” Miraak growled, hand on his sword hilt. “My power is real, I promise you. If you don’t want to find out firsthand, I’ll give you one chance to turn around and walk away before I end you.”

“Yes, that matches what I’ve heard,” the noble sneered. “Some lowborn apostate outsider desperate for any power he can get and willing to kill anyone in his path.”

Miraak’s fingers flexed at his sword hilt, magic there and ready and one spell would end this man… but that might just prove him right. Gods damn it. And killing a man at a fancy party was probably going to get him in trouble. Seriously, gods damn it.

“You don’t have to keep placing yourself in it,” Miraak told him. “I have a job to do. Killing you is not part of it… but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.”

“Oh, so you’re backing out,” the noble said scornfully, reaching behind for the sword on his back. “I knew it. If you truly had any honour, you’d answer the charges like a man.”

That did it. No one insulted an Atmoran’s honour and lived.

“Fine. Step outside and we’ll settle this – I’d hate to ruin Enchanter Vivienne’s house with your innards,” Miraak snarled… and then frost magic exploded in front of him and the noble was frozen in place.

Magic not his own, in fact he could feel it, the elemental power of winter seeming to fill the room, and his Atmoran blood responded to it, because despite the dragon blood, he was also a son of Solstheim, born to the snow and ice.

_Show me this mage!_

And there she was, at the top of the stairs, dark skin like one of the Ra Gada but dressed in the finest Orlesian fashions and wearing a hat with horns like a Dovah’s. Beautiful, deadly… and mate material, yes she was.

Forget the threesome. This was much better. 

“My dear Marquis. How unkind of you to use such language in my house, to my guests.”

High heels clicked on the stairs as she sauntered down them, elegant robe swishing as she turned on the spot to face the poor doomed Marquis, staring impassively at him from behind the mask which resembled the heraldry he’d seen on the front gates.

“Whatever am I to do with you, you foolish, foolish man,” Vivienne said, for this must be her, all powerful magic, deadly elegance and a voice like poisoned honey. Miraak really, truly, did like this one. A true mate for a Dovah, this.

And then she turned to him, looking extremely pleased to see him.

“Your Worship, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. Whatever would you have me do with him?”

Truly the gods were smiling on him this evening.

“I was about to call him outside to settle the matter of my honour,” Miraak said, almost wishing he could take the mask off so this idiot Marquis could see the grin of triumph. “He said I had none or else I’d duel him. I was about to oblige.”

“And now I’m almost sorry I intervened,” Vivienne laughed. “Now he’s been publicly called to task, are you still minded to have his head? Or should we just settle for evicting him with his tail between his legs.”

Wait. Was she offering… was killing people for a slight at a party allowed??

“I could still have his head?” Miraak asked, keen to clarify that point. “That won’t have consequences?”

“Darling, he drew his sword, unprovoked, in front of a room full of witnesses,” Vivienne explained, seeming quite unbothered by the prospect of someone dying at her party. “We all heard you tell him to stand down – twice – and he ignored you. If you two had stepped outside, you’d have been well within your rights to duel him to the death – but he couldn’t wait that long and drew his sword _in the house._ Who does that, Your Worship?”

“The sort of ill-mannered barbarian no one will miss,” Miraak said, feeling extremely pleased with the way this evening was going.

“Precisely, darling,” Vivienne said, smiling sweetly. “So, what would you like me to do. As your host, it is my responsibility to ensure conflicts under my roof are appropriately managed and that my guests do not suffer any undue harm, either to their person or their reputation. The Marquis here is managing to break all the rules of hospitality, and so he’ll be leaving this gathering tonight. It’s up to you to decide how.”

“Kill him,” Miraak said instantly, not needing to deliberate on that point. Vivienne’s eyebrows flicked up but she didn’t argue. Instead she simply turned around and placed a finger on the terrified Marquis’s chin.

“And this is why we must always be polite to our fellow guests,” she intoned, before stepping back, drawing more frost magic and… 

The Marquis’s dying scream as he turned into a solid lump of ice was something Miraak was going to treasure for a very long time.

“Someone clean this mess up,” Vivienne called to the servants. “We can’t have him cluttering up the dance floor.”

Then she turned to Miraak, that smile back in place again. 

“I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering, I’ve so wanted to meet you. Come on, let’s talk.”

Miraak was extremely happy to oblige. So he followed her upstairs, to a quieter part of the party, a moonlit corridor with windows taking up nearly the whole of the wall to allow for a view of an exquisitely landscaped garden.

Windows. Miraak wasn’t used to windows. In Solstheim, any window represented a way for the cold to get in, and so they were small and few, letting the light in but little else. Dragon priest temples had been vast underground edifices, the cold a thing for the surface and not something Miraak often ventured out to.

He wasn’t used to big surface houses with huge windows and stunning views. He really really could get used to it though. Was Vivienne after a lover? He hoped so. He could live with being a kept man at an estate like this.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” Vivienne said, turning to face him, seemingly in a very good mood herself. “I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and official Enchanter to the Imperial Court. Some also refer to me as Madame De Fer, but it’s not my official name. Still, you might hear it used. No need to ask who you are, of course. His Worship Lord Miraak, Herald of Andraste, is a name on everyone’s lips.”

As it should be. That it was on hers was… he could stand to hear her use it more often.

“You don’t need to use my full title, Lady Vivienne,” Miraak said, tearing his eyes away from the garden to watch her more closely. “From that display of power back there, we’re clearly peers.”

Vivienne did laugh at that, eyes flashing delight, and Miraak could feel his own pleasure rising as he realised he still had it.

“Well, aren’t you charming!” Vivienne laughed. “They say you’re some terrifying brute to be feared, but from what I’ve seen tonight, you’re far better versed in social graces than some of the nobles. Ah, but you didn’t come all the way here for pleasantries. My dear, after that scene in the bazaar, it can’t have escaped your notice that the Chantry’s in shambles.”

“I had noticed,” Miraak said, rolling his eyes. “They’re flailing, desperately clinging to the remnants of protocol and doctrine, hoping that will protect them while the world burns. It will not. The Templars are worse. Pushing their own agenda and ignoring the work that actually needs doing – if their role was to protect the world from the dangers of magic, they’ve failed more completely than anyone could have imagined.”

Vivienne seemed impressed, definitely warming up to him.

“You see it as well, Herald. I must say, it’s a refreshing change for a mage not one of my own loyalists to be so reasonable. It confirms my thoughts. The Inquisition appears to be our only chance of restoring sanity and order, and protecting our frightened people. And as you said in the bazaar, swords alone won’t close the Breach. You will need mage assistance… and as the leader of the last loyal mages in Thedas, I feel it only right to offer my services to your cause.”

Miraak felt a little shiver run down his spine, a little frisson of delight. Yes, yes, of course she could join.

“Define the last loyal mages of Thedas,” Miraak said thoughtfully. She likely didn’t mean the mage rebellion. 

“We’re loyal to the common people of Thedas,” Vivienne explained. “We have not forgotten the commandment, as some have, that magic was meant to serve, not rule. While the malcontents in the mage rebellion run riot, those of us remaining to the Circle continue to serve. And we think we could usefully serve the Inquisition.”

Miraak had the feeling Vivienne had never truly been a servant in her life, but honestly, that just added to her charm. 

“Could you now,” Miraak murmured, all sorts of fantasies running through his brain, and between the ones where he was the one taking his pleasure from making a powerful mage acknowledge his mastery, and the more forbidden but still very enticing ones where he was letting her take what she wanted instead, he really couldn’t decide what he’d prefer. “Tell me, Vivienne, your interest in the Inquisition. Is it purely business or was there something more… personal you were after?”

_Say yes. Say yes. Please say yes._

Vivienne gasped, and clearly he’d got through to her… and then she composed herself, smile fading as she stared unflinchingly back at him.

“You know, my dear, there is such a thing as being too charming,” Vivienne said, an edge of reproof to her voice. “It’s purely professional, of course.”

Wait, what? That wasn’t the way this was supposed to go! She was supposed to… want him as well. Thank the gods the mask was hiding his disappointment.

“Besides, this entire estate? The property of the Duc de Ghislain, member of the Council of Heralds, one of the most important men in the court. I have a suite here and when I’m not at my Circle, this is home. I hardly need to explain why, do I, Lord Herald.”

Why on Vus… oh. Fuck. This wasn’t her house legally but she was wearing the mask of the family and essentially lived here in luxury, hosting parties with impunity. And why would a powerful man consider an unrelated woman a part of his family?

She already had a lover, and that man owned a fucking chateau like this one. What did he have? Haven.

She was not going to leave a rich and powerful Orlesian noble for him on seeing Haven. Gods. Fucking. Damn it.

_Use Bend Will. Bring her to you anyway._

What, no! You couldn’t have tinvaak with someone under Bend Will, they just cheerfully agreed with everything you said… oh.

Oh.

Memories of laying Saering to rest, going through the motions of lighting the pyre, the mask hiding an expressionless face and the madness of grief in his eyes. No feelings, nothing, just emptiness… until he’d seen the word wall behind Saering’s pyre and seen the Thu’um boiling out from it. GOL, and in that moment he’d learnt the first word of a Shout that could command others to his will. A Shout that could have stopped Saering leaving. A Shout that if used, would have meant Saering wouldn’t have died. He’d still have had a husband. A compliant, personality-less husband but that was better than lighting his pyre.

He’d flown into a fervor of research trying to find the other two words. It had become an obsession. It was what had eventually turned him to Daedra-worship and got him trapped in Oblivion for millennia. All for the Shout that could have stopped Saering leaving him.

And here he was, years later, presented with an opportunity to use it for the purpose he’d originally intended it for and… he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to use Bend Will to make someone love him. Because it wouldn’t be real and he couldn’t connect with them emotionally. You couldn’t have tinvaak with a servant. Only a peer.

It had all been for nothing. He must have been truly mad. Only a madman could ever think that using Bend Will on one’s own husband was a good idea.

“Herald? Your Worship? Miraak?” Vivienne was actually sounding concerned… and a little guilty. That was nice of her, he supposed. “My dear, are you all right?”

“Yes,” Miraak said wearily, suddenly feeling the need to get out of here. “Listen, I… I have a long ride back to my accommodation and cannot stay any longer. But we would be honoured to have you join the Inquisition. Bring your people and come to Haven. I will advise the Ambassador you’re on your way.”

“I’ll organise everything and send word to her,” Vivienne promised. “Herald, I… if anything I said has caused you any offence…”

“No,” Miraak said, shaking his head and trying to smile before remembering she couldn’t see it, there was no point. “No, it is not you, I… something you said stirred a bad memory but it is not your fault. Thank you for the invitation, Vivienne. I’ve enjoyed this evening. It’s given me much to think about. I shall see you at Haven?”

“Yes, Lord Herald, you certainly shall,” Vivienne said, pleasure tempered by something else. By sadness? “Oh, and Your Worship, if I may…”

Miraak indicated for her to go on.

“The Maker sent you here for a higher purpose,” Vivienne said, straightening up and watching him carefully. “The Maker gave you that Voice magic for a higher purpose. Whatever happened to you in the past, whatever mistakes you’ve made, you have a chance, here and now, to make up for all of it. You are Andraste’s Herald now. Be the saviour the world needs and your past won’t matter. You have a chance to move on. Be a better person. The Maker’s given you another chance. Take it, my dear.”

He’d had similar thoughts. Other people had told him similar things. But hearing this, now, from her, it spoke to him, in a way no one had previously. Because she didn’t have to say any of it, and yet here she was trying to comfort him.

“Thank you, Madame De Fer,” Miraak said, heart suddenly warming up because while Vivienne as mate was clearly off the table, something else was taking its place. Grah-Briinahzin. Ally. Friend. Comrade in arms. Someone who understood him, and in that moment, Miraak realised he could have tinvaak with her after all – was having it right now in fact. You didn’t need to have sex with someone or a romantic relationship for that to happen. You just needed to be able to speak honestly with them and be understood and cared for.

Miraak had made a friend. He’d not ever had many of those in his life. His older brother? His little sister? He’d been the quiet type as a child, overlooked as Halbard’s little brother, destined to maybe end up as some minor cleric at the Dragon Temple. Until his magic had flowered and the road to becoming Miraak had started, and after that it had been nothing but the lonely road to the top and even his fellow Dragon Priests couldn’t always be trusted.

But Thedas was different, and while he was Herald, the Inquisition’s Inner Circle didn’t quite see him as untouchable. Cassandra, more than willing to tell him off or hold him back. Cullen, who was wary of his magic but respected his opinions and had been the one to express concern for him. Josephine, deferential and professional but also possessed of considerable charm and whose company he enjoyed. Varric, who called him Tentacles and just treated him like anyone else, and while Miraak wouldn’t admit it, part of him rather liked it. And then there was Leliana, the ruthlessly pragmatic spymaster… and Miraak was rather fond of her, even if she didn’t make a habit of letting people get close either. And Sera, the elf who just ignored his titles completely.

And now there was Vivienne. Someone who got him. Someone to talk to. Someone with power not far off his own. A peer. A friend. 

A connection valuable in its own right, and there didn’t need to be any sex or courtship involved. The thought was actually rather freeing. The ability to just be was enough in itself. It needed nothing more. And so the First Dragonborn made his way home, feeling lighter in his heart than he had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many mainstream media productions place all the narrative emphasis on some male/male friendship bonding and then hastily paste on a chemistry-free M/F romance so it doesn't look gay. *eyeroll* I'm having a lot of fun subverting the tired old heteronormativity in favour of the rather more interesting concept of the two men hooking up, and then our lead going on to cultivate lots of really close friendships with women.
> 
> Miraak's having so many little epiphanies, it's brilliant. Eventually there is going to be some complete mental breakdown and it's going to be awesome. As for the moment, I'm mainly coping the dilemma of how to get an Evil Overlord to behave by framing everything in terms of what he can get away with. You'd be amazed how many people frame their own personal morality in those terms, it really is quite surprising and a little alarming. But it'll work fine for Miraak for now... until he starts to embrace being a better person for its own sake anyway. He already found one moral principle in this chapter. I'm so proud of him.
> 
> Notes on the Dovahzul:
> 
> Lokendov - false warrior, impostor, pretender, not nearly as tough as he thinks he is.
> 
> Volahzey - Anti-mage, Templar
> 
> Joor - mortal, not a dragon or Dragonborn.
> 
> Vo Rot Nahlot - Un-Word Silence. Use with the same rhythm as 'Ziil los di du!' Will stop any joor from talking. Does not work on fellow Dovah.
> 
> Tinvaak - intimacy through speech, emotional communion. Specifically non-sexual, but can be had with a lover.
> 
> Next chapter is recruiting Blackwall... and then it's off to Redcliffe.


	4. Tiid-Ahkraan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Wardens prove unreachable and the Council are dismissive, Leliana turns to the one person who might get things done anyway, giving Miraak some new leads to follow. Chasing one down brings unexpected aid if little new information... and taking Fiona up on her invitation to Redcliffe brings a new influence into Miraak's life that has the power to overturn it for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian finally makes his debut! It was every bit as much fun writing them as I'd anticipated.

Back at Haven, and the debrief was… predictable.

“The Chantry’s dealt with,” Miraak was able to report. “Mother Hevara’s promised to stop denouncing us, and the Chantry is going to put the word out that while no one can know for sure if I am truly Andraste’s Herald or not, I am sincere in my attempt to stop the Breach and that it is not sinful to volunteer your services to us.”

“It is something,” Cassandra added. “More than that, we cannot truly expect until we succeed. People need deeds, and while the work we’ve done is valuable, we need to do something truly impressive to win their hearts.”

“That’d be a lot easier if they actually helped us,” Cullen snorted. “But we have had offers coming in. Including from this mercenary company who are watching some Tevinter agents on the Storm Coast, the Bull’s Chargers. Josephine’s checked their references and they’re legitimate but normally they wait for people to hire them. They don’t normally contact customers to offer their services. They’ve got a reputation as honourable fighters too. I suggest taking them up on the offer. Perhaps the Herald could go to the Storm Coast when he’s got time.”

“You need my opinion on hiring mercenaries?” Miraak asked, surprised. If they were good fighters, didn’t break contracts and could be relied on, he didn’t care about much else.

“We need someone to go out there and meet with them, discuss the terms of the contract in person, and it needs to be someone with some authority,” Cullen said, folding his arms and looking expectantly at Miraak. “With no actual Inquisitor, we need someone who can represent us, and you’re combat-skilled enough to assess them in a fight. You’re not bad at reading people either, and you’re not afraid to stand up for yourself in negotiations. Frankly, you’re our best option. But perhaps that’s for later. Leliana tells me you had a run-in with the Templars.”

“A run-in? You publicly humiliated them!” Leliana said, looking up with a grin. “I didn’t know your Voice could do that, but it proved a point. People were all looking to the Templars to protect them, but they made themselves look like tyrants by punching a Chantry Mother, and then you made Lord Seeker Lucius look ridiculous. They were too afraid to laugh in the marketplace but that tale grew in the telling later. They like you, Herald. And now they’re joining up.”

Like? People weren’t supposed to like him! They were supposed to revere, worship and fear him. They were most assuredly not supposed to tell tales of him in the tavern that resulted in hysterical laughter, warm appreciation and deciding he was one of them. Miraak was not a man of the people.

It was a shame no one had told the people that.

“They’re not going to start buying me drinks in the tavern are they,” Miraak said warily. “Or… or make me join the singing.”

Cullen actually laughed, but the look in his eyes told of sympathy.

“No one’s going to make you be sociable unless you want to be,” Cullen promised. “If you like, I’ll tell the men things catch fire when you sing.”

That was a damn sight more impressive than the truth, which was that bardic talents had largely passed Miraak by, and so he agreed to that.

There was however still the problem of how to get enough power to seal the Breach, and with the Templar leadership likely to be hardened against them, it looked like arranging for them to suppress the Breach so Miraak’s Thu’um had less to do was a non-starter.

“Not entirely,” Josephine said thoughtfully. “Raise the Inquisition’s reputation a little more and we might be able to reach them. Many senior Templars have noble relatives with influence, and there are many powerful and devout nobles who might wish the Templars to take a more active role in the situation and do the job the Order was intended to do. We could bring those nobles to the Templar base so they can take up their concerns with the Order in person.”

“And get us an audience, brilliant!” Cullen laughed. “They might have broken from the Chantry but they can’t ignore a group of powerful nobles with their own soldiers. I think it’s worth trying, what about you, Herald?”

It was definitely worth a try, but they might have more luck with the mages. Fiona had seemed reasonable… but might not remain so if she learned they were courting the Templars.

“The mages seem more willing to talk to us without us needing to bring half the nobles in Orlais,” Miraak said thoughtfully. “I could use them. Not to suppress the Breach but to get me closer. If I went to Redcliffe to talk with them… I believe I could persuade them.”

Alternately Bend Will might work. Of course, that might have repercussions, even used on a mage. Also the unfortunate consequence that you had to keep applying it. No. Better to bring them willingly if possible.

“They might well listen to a fellow mage,” Leliana agreed. “Especially one never associated with any Circle. It only remains to find out what they might want in return. Templars might agree it’s their duty to stop dangerous magic, but mages will need more than faith or duty to motivate them.”

“No doubt they’ll want what they always wanted,” Cassandra snorted. “More freedom.”

On a purely personal level, Miraak could attest he’d yearned for nothing else while stuck in Apocrypha. But as for granting more freedom to the mages… well. Ni tiid ov. Trust was earned, not given. But on a purely practical level, they didn’t have enough Templars in the Inquisition to monitor them round the clock. Personal freedom in the Inquisition itself would end up being a given.

Perhaps if they served loyally and well and behaved themselves, he might be able to do more after. But they’d need to help first.

“I still think we should go after the Templars,” Cullen was saying. “I used to be one, I know what they’re capable of!”

That explained much. But Miraak wasn’t going to write off the mage rebellion just yet.

“I’m going to Redcliffe,” he decided. “I will speak with the mages. I may be able to offer them something. If the talks fail, Cullen and Cassandra may tell me they told me so, and we will go after the Templars instead. Perhaps Josephine can draw up a list of nobles to approach and make some initial overtures in the meantime.”

“Of course, my lord,” Josephine promised. “I am not convinced we have enough influence yet anyway, not quite. There are still things that could be done in the Hinterlands to improve it.”

Miraak couldn’t quite stop himself shivering at the thought of the long list of things still outstanding in the Hinterlands. But there was no help for it. Even if the mages were willing to help, his own ability to provide for them in return relied on building his own power. Gods, hadn’t Vivienne’s salon demonstrated to him that in order to obtain a mate, he’d need to do better than he presently was? Wealth. Power. Status. Importance. He’d need it all. How was he supposed to keep a mate in the style the Dovahkiin’s spouse deserved otherwise?

The fact that the prospect of obtaining a spouse in the first place was a distant one, didn’t really occur to Miraak, still less that possibly a potential lover might want him for him not what he could give them. The mate of the Dovahkiin deserved the best so the best they would have.

The meeting broke up and the others filed out. Miraak would have followed, intending to find his cabin for a well-earned rest, but Leliana seemed to want to talk to him. Alone.

Leliana almost certainly wasn’t offering herself as a mate, so what did she have to say that couldn’t be said in front of the others?

“What is it? Do we have a traitor in the ranks?”

“What? No! At least – no. Josephine has more integrity than anyone I know, and the other two are terrible liars. Honestly, you’re the unknown quantity here. But… no one would make up that backstory. And one thing no one is describing you as is subtle. No, I needed to talk with you about something else. Something outside the Inquisition that concerns me. Did you read the briefing notes I sent you about Grey Wardens and the Blight?”

“Yes,” Miraak said, recalling both the tale of Lyra Surana, the Hero of Ferelden and stories of four previous Blights. The Wardens were an order of warriors dedicated to ridding the world of darkspawn and the dreaded Blight disease that powered them. Miraak had read tales of sentient dragons tainted by the Blight that commanded darkspawn armies and shivered. Dovah? Here? And poisoned by Blight… that was no way to die. Poor things.

As for the Wardens, outside of Blights, their order was a secretive one but they did have mages. For them to be involved with all this seemed unlikely but it wasn’t a huge stretch, and so Miraak asked if she thought this. Leliana’s hesitation said it all.

“I can’t get hold of them,” Leliana said, worry all over her face. “I know Lyra was off on some mission to the far west but she left deputies in charge of the Fereldan Wardens. But now I can’t reach them. Soldier’s Peak – empty. Vigil’s Keep – deserted. If Lyra was calling them away, she would have sent word to me, but I’ve heard nothing. So I reached out to the Orlesian Wardens – and they’re gone too. They never leave their bases entirely deserted. Something is up. Ordinarily I wouldn’t even consider the idea they’re connected to all this… but the timing is curious.”

Leliana’s distress was real enough – and for Leliana to even show distress, something must be up.

“Do you wish me to investigate,” Miraak asked quietly. “Do you have a lead you need me to follow?”

Leliana started up, staring at him and then her face broke out into a smile, and while she was no Atmoran and certainly not blonde like all his family were, Miraak was very much reminded of his little sister in that moment. Not that Greta and Leliana had a lot in common, in all honesty. But the feeling inside Miraak when Leliana brightened up because of him was extraordinarily similar to the way he’d felt after Greta hugged him for helping him out. Be it breaking Sven the Braggart’s hand or offering to hunt down Wardens.

“I hoped you’d understand,” Leliana said, relief all over her face. “I raised my suspicions with the others but they dismissed them. Cullen says we don’t have the manpower to start a manhunt for them and Josephine’s noble contacts won’t be able to help. But I cannot ignore this, and I’ve been looking into it. There was talk of Wardens on the Storm Coast recently – they may have left signs of their passing. If you’re heading to the Storm Coast to meet with this Iron Bull, could you search the area for signs of Wardens too? Any information you can find might help. And… I have another lead in the Hinterlands. If you’re going to Redcliffe, could you look into this too?”

The lead turned out to be word of a Warden roaming the Hinterlands, a Warden called Blackwall.

“I looked into the name and he was a Warden-Constable in Orlais until a few years ago,” Leliana explained. “What he’s doing in Ferelden I don’t know but he may know something. It’s worth a try. Here’s his location.”

Near the lake west of Fort Calenhad. The Inquisition had a camp nearby. All right. He’d look into it. Time to find a Warden.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Stand there and there! Hold your shields up to form a shield wall, you’re hiding not holding!”

That had to be him. Clearly an experienced commanding officer, and the armour plate had a griffin on the front. Traditional sign of the Wardens apparently. The man inside the armour was around forty, dark hair, pale skin, bearded… and presently drilling a trio of nervous looking farmboys.

Miraak had never faced a darkspawn but he truly didn’t give much for these boys’ chances. Maybe the Wardens were facing a recruiting crisis.

“Warden Blackwall,” Miraak announced, feeling rather pleased as the farmboys saw him approach and went pale. “The Inquisition has questions.”

“Warden – who are you?” Blackwall said, frowning as he moved in Miraak’s direction. “How did you know my-?”

Blackwall broke off mid-sentence and lunged forward with his shield. Miraak instinctively stepped back… and an arrow thudded right into Blackwall’s shield, which had moved to block it from shooting through the place Miraak’s head had been seconds earlier.

Adrenaline kicked in, and while Miraak would never admit just how close that had been, the need to both reassure himself of his strength while at the same time raising the cost of firing an arrow at a Dragonborn took over.

Several bandits had broken from cover, racing towards them with swords and axes raised, and Miraak didn’t even listen to Blackwall saying they were dealing with these idiots first. One Thu’um later and the lead bandit had been sent flying… right over the cliff.

Sera was putting an arrow through the eye of another, and Bianca’s bolts were studding another’s chest while Cassandra charged the man down to finish off. And then Miraak remembered that as sole mage in the group, he might be advised to put a barrier over everyone else before anyone got hurt.

He needn’t have worried. Blackwall had joined the fray, and the bandits were soon dealt with, with the farmboys barely having to work up a sweat.

Miraak found Blackwall kneeling over one of them, shaking his head.

“Sorry, bastards,” Blackwall said, seeming grieved it had come to this. “It should never have… well. Thieves are made, not born.”

He got to his feet and nodded at the farmboys. 

“Take back what they stole, and go home to your families. You saved yourselves.”

The farmhands filed out, leaving Miraak eyeing a man who was definitely a capable warrior. He’d make for a good addition to the Inquisition certainly. As for mate potential… strength, yes, broad shoulders, yes, facial hair… no. Not that much of it anyway. Odd for an Atmoran who found men attractive to disdain facial hair but Miraak truly wasn’t one for beards. So no mate. Not this one. He’d settle for answers though..

“So. Warden Blackwall,” Miraak said, looking him over. “We are with the Inquisition. Have you heard of us?”

“Heard of – have I heard of you?” Blackwall scoffed. “You lot are all anyone’s been talking about round these parts since the rifts started up. You and your Herald. Miraak. From the way you shouted that poor bastard off the cliff, I’m guessing that’s you. Interesting mask. You’re no Orlesian though, are you?”

“No,” Miraak said, folding his arms. “I’m an Atmoran. You will not have heard of us, and it’s not important. What is important is that the Grey Wardens have all disappeared, and there’s talk they might have been involved in the Divine’s death.”

He leaned forward, only slightly annoyed that Blackwall was nearly as tall as he was.

“Where are the rest of you, Blackwall?”

Blackwall’s eyes had widened, clearly surprised. Had he not heard about this?

“The Divi- Maker’s balls, you think Wardens killed the Divine?”

“I don’t think anything yet,” Miraak said, watching him carefully. A convincing protestation of innocence, but he might also be a very good liar. “I’m asking.”

“Which means you don’t really know,” Blackwall said thoughtfully. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I can tell you this – no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political!”

“Is it killing bandits?” Miraak asked, glancing at the bodies. Blackwall shrugged uncomfortably.

“They were making life difficult for the local farms so I ‘conscripted’ their victims. They had to do what I told them, and I told them to hold. Next time they won’t need me.”

Satisfaction in Blackwall’s eyes, and the words were odd. If he’d truly conscripted them, wouldn’t he be taking them to join the other Wardens, and Miraak asked him this.

More awkwardness. Blackwall really wasn’t keen to talk, was he.

“Well, we don’t really need a large number of recruits outside a Blight, do we?” Blackwall said, shrugging again. “Blight over, Archdemon dead, Wardens are the first thing forgotten. Probably why the others have disappeared. We do that, don’t we?”

“But you’re still here,” Miraak said, frowning. “No one sent word? No orders came your way?”

“No,” Blackwall said, staring back into where the eyes would be if Blackwall could see his face. “You must know what the roads are like these days. Templars, mages, demons, bandits, Maker knows what else. Anything could have happened to a runner. Point is, I’ve been out here on my own for months – years. Quietly recruiting and lending a hand when I can. When there’s no Blight you have to figure out what the promise to protect others really means.”

Damn. Miraak had been hoping he’d have answers, but from the sounds of it, he’d taken retirement of a sort from a leadership role and gone back out into the field, and with no Blight, his superiors had probably let him go. Perhaps there’d been a disagreement or something. Fact was, this lead was a dead end. Leliana would not be pleased. He’d have to hope the Storm Coast had some answers. As it was, they were done here.

“This is all very inspiring but it’s giving me nothing,” Miraak sighed. “Ugh. Never mind. Thank you for your time, Warden Blackwall. If you do hear anything, we have camps all over the Hinterlands. Our spymaster served with the Hero of Ferelden. She’d appreciate any news.”

Miraak turned and left – but what he’d not expected was Warden Blackwall calling him back.

“Wait. Herald. Miraak. However you’re meant to be addressed. Hold a moment.”

 _His Worship Lord Miraak, Herald of Andraste and First Dragonborn._ But he was aware of Sera watching him and said nothing. Last thing he needed was the elf deciding he needed bees in his bedroll. Instead he just stopped and waited for Blackwall to say his piece.

“Look, I know this isn’t a Blight but it’s bloody well a disaster. And thinking Wardens are absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. A Warden needs to be out there helping fight it. If you’ll have me, I’d like to help. If the rest of my order have vanished, maybe with you I can find out more than I would on my own. And maybe you could use my help too. I can’t say I’m practised at fighting demons, but show me someone who is.”

Miraak was aware of Sera and Varric both looking at him, and Blackwall noticed too.

“Well. Perhaps the Lord Herald knows what he’s doing,” Blackwall admitted. “But don’t tell me you’ve got no use for a good man with a sword. Or a man good with a sword anyway.”

“Shall we?” Miraak asked, glancing at his companions. Truth be told, he was fairly certain he was going to say yes, but the others probably had opinions.

“They’ve got a good reputation as fighters, and Blackwall’s reflexes saved your ass, Tentacles,” Varric said.

Miraak was sure his mask would have stopped the arrow. Probably.

“Tentacles??” Blackwall laughed, glancing at Varric. “Love to know the story behind that one!”

“He got taken prisoner in the Fade by a creepy tentacle demon!” Sera chimed in. Oh gods, this was all he needed. Blackwall’s eyebrows raised even further.

“I can see I have a lot to catch up on,” Blackwall said, amused. “Maybe I’ll make my way to Haven anyway.”

“Yes!” Sera laughed. “Pint later, yeah?”

Miraak’s instinct was to tell her not to order drinks bigger than she was, but she’d probably just laugh and say those were the best kind. He turned to Cassandra, hopeful for an adult opinion.

“He could be useful,” Cassandra said thoughtfully. “Skill aside, the Wardens have treaties with most nations and people promising aid to the Wardens in a Blight. If one joined our cause, our Ambassador might be able to use those treaties. They’re not binding outside a Blight, but there are those who might honour them anyway. Especially in Ferelden.”

Ferelden had been ravaged by the last Blight and still hadn’t entirely recovered. Grey Warden treaties might count for much in a land that owed them its survival.

“All right, Warden Blackwall,” Miraak agreed. “Come with us to the camp then make your way to Haven. Welcome aboard.”

“I won’t let you down, Herald,” Blackwall promised. “This Warden walks with the Inquisition.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miraak felt it before he saw it. Something was wrong. _Time_ was wrong. The vennesetiid were twisted and mangled, as if someone had tried to redirect them but only succeeded in breaking them.

“Herald?” Cassandra asked as he broke into a run. “Herald? Miraak, wait!”

He rounded the corner and saw it, hovering in the air right outside the gates of Redcliffe. A rift, but not like the usual kind. This wasn’t just a rift, it was a Tiid-Ahkraan, time slowing up and down around it.

It still spat out demons though. And Miraak, despite feeling rubbed raw by the Tiid-Ahkraan, was still capable of fighting them.

The demons were finally dealt with and Miraak was relieved to find his Thu’um still worked on it. The rift was banished and the wuldsetiid eased, settling back into a more normal flow. 

“Something is wrong here,” Miraak announced. “Time’s been… diverted. We need to investigate.”

“How can you tell?” Cassandra gasped. Miraak paused, wondering how to explain this to her. About half the words he’d need to use were Dovahzul ones.

“I have the blood of Our Father,” he settled for. “We children of Akatosh can tell such things. I can’t explain any further, but something is wrong.”

Cassandra stared after him but did not argue or challenge him, just following him in.

“I could have done without these things getting weirder,” he heard Varric say, quickly followed by Sera wanting to know what did he mean, weirder, they didn’t normally do that??

Miraak almost pitied Sera, because things were definitely going to get more so. And then one of the Inquisition soldiers who’d travelled there in advance came to meet him. It turned out no one had been expecting them, and Fiona had said nothing about the Inquisition coming to visit.

_But she invited me in Val Royeaux, why…_

Because the wuldsetiid was different. The vennesetiid had changed. History rewritten and the stream in which Fiona had invited him in Val Royeaux to come and meet with the mages had clearly been diverted into one where this had never happened.

Shit.

But there was no help for it. Apparently the Grand Enchanter was in the tavern but was no longer in charge. Someone called Magister Alexius had taken over.

“What’s that title,” Miraak murmured. “I don’t remember hearing that one.”

“It is a Tevinter title,” Cassandra said, thin-lipped. “They are the mages who rule the Imperium. Why one is suddenly in charge here… that is not good.”

The Tevinter Imperium. The empire to the north who had once worshipped dragons, and who had accidentally started the Blights by walking in the Fade. Andraste’s enemies and killers, the embodiment of evil. Miraak had found them fascinating, but solid information had been lacking. He had a few questions for this Magister Alexius.

They entered the tavern, and Miraak was struck by the atmosphere – or lack of it. The tavern was full of rebel mages, and they all looked terrified. Uneasy. Fearful, all of them. Freedom wasn’t working out so well for them, was it now.

And Fiona… a shadow of her former self, confidence gone and of course, hadn’t been to Val Royeaux since the rebellion started and had never met him.

“OK, something is officially up, I was right there when we met!” Varric protested. “Tentacles, Seeker, I’m not going mad, am I?”

“No,” Miraak said, patting his back. “Someone has… interfered.”

And he had a feeling Magister Alexius would know who it was, if he wasn’t responsible himself.

The door behind them swung open and in walked the Magister himself, resplendent in what apparently was Tevinter high fashion. Miraak rolled his eyes, disliking it on sight.

“Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius of Tevinter,” Fiona said, bowing her head.

“Indeed,” Alexius said, looking Miraak up and down and almost looking pleased to see him. Somehow Miraak had a feeling he wasn’t being apprised for mate status. “Greetings, Inquisition. I command the southern mages now – and you must be the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade. Interesting.”

“You could say that,” Miraak said, head turning to keep an eye on Alexius as he made his way up the tavern. “My name is Miraak. We require the mages’ assistance in sealing the Breach – but Fiona tells she is now indentured to a magister and has no authority to negotiate. This has been a rather abrupt change of events. When exactly did the mage rebellion decide Tevinter was their only option?”

“Why, not long after the Conclave of course,” Alexius said, far too smoothly. “There were reprisals from the Templars, the mages feared for their lives, and then we made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. Of course, they represent a significant expense but with time, they will all be productive citizens of the Imperium, I’m sure. After they’ve served their time.”

Slavery, or as good as. Miraak actually felt sorry for them. But not sorry enough. They had clearly made their beds. He was half tempted to walk out there and then and leave them to their fate, and tell Cullen and Josephine to go after the Templars instead. Still, something stopped him. The vennesetiid were wrong. He couldn’t just leave time in this state.

“In their hour of need, you just happened to be there to save them,” Miraak growled. “How very… timely.”

“Indeed,” Alexius said, only the hint of nerves in his eyes. Miraak was almost tempted to remove his mask so that Alexius could see just how furious he was with him. But no. It was bad enough it had been removed without his consent as a prisoner in Haven. Miraak didn’t show his true face to just anyone. So he just followed and took a seat at a table opposite Alexius, Cassandra at his back, Varric at his side and Sera rather nervously glancing at the door. While she didn’t seem bothered by his magic exactly, most other magic made her nervous.

In this case, Miraak didn’t blame her. She had cause.

“So, you intend to close the Breach,” Alexius said thoughtfully. “That will require no small number of mages, I imagine.”

“I’m not known for thinking small,” Miraak replied, allowing himself a little amusement at this. “You will find I am a man of ambition and no small amount of power in my own right. Still, for this even I require aid. I will take as many mages as can be spared.”

“As many as can be spared? You might find the number is lower than you’d like,” Alexius said knowingly, glancing up as another man approached, a younger one in his twenties and bearing a strong resemblance to Alexius himself.

“Allow me to introduce my son, Felix,” Alexius said proudly. “Felix, my boy, did you fetch the scribe like I asked- Felix?”

Felix’s leg seemed to give way, and he staggered, before collapsing right into Miraak’s arms.

Miraak really hoped this wasn’t a seduction attempt because the man was a bit young. Also Alexius had leapt to his feet, horrified and crying Felix’s name. Interesting. He genuinely cared about his child.

 _If we took Felix as a hostage, would Alexius be willing to give up the mages?_ Now there was an interesting thought. 

But not as interesting as the fact Felix had slipped a note into his hand, before hauling himself up and reaching for his anguished father.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to worry everyone,” Felix said awkwardly, not risking another glance in Miraak’s direction.

“Let’s get you back to the castle,” Alexius said gently, before turning to Miraak. “Herald. My apologies. I need to see to Felix. We will have to continue these negotiations at another time – I will of course send word to your Ambassador. Fiona! Fiona, I need your assistance back at the castle.”

Of course he did. Still, it bought Miraak a little breathing space… and a chance to read the note after everyone else left.

_Come to the Chantry. You are in terrible danger._

Not signed. Well, of course not. Nicely vague too. In danger – well, of course the situation was dangerous but…

Miraak did not need protecting. Most certainly not. All the same, it was just possible this mystery person might have useful information.

“You know, this has trap written all over it.”

Varric, that.

“We’re really going to the village Chantry to meet some weirdo who might want to kill us?”

Sera’s paranoia sense was also clearly working just fine.

“Felix took a great risk getting this into my hands without his father seeing it,” Miraak mused. “I don’t think he agrees with what his father is doing. If there is a nascent resistance movement… perhaps I want to meet it. I don’t need the entire rebellion. I just need those who like their freedom too much to sell it to Tevinter.”

“The ones who liked their freedom too much were the ones to cause the trouble in the first place,” Cassandra said grimly. “But it is a lead worth following. We will just have to be on our guard.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Chantry door opened to reveal one not dissimilar to Haven’s, darkened, abandoned… home to another Tiid-Ahkraan right in the middle, making it abundantly clear why the Chantry was abandoned.

Demons had materialised just as Miraak opened the door… but to his surprise they didn’t all make for him. Magic flared at the back of the Chantry hall and closer inspection revealed another man there, a mage fighting the demons.

“Ah good, you’re finally here! Help me with these, would you?”

Miraak stopped. Miraak stared. Miraak saw a man a little younger than he’d been when he’d been taken by Mora but not significantly so. Dark hair, cut short. Light brown skin like a Cyrodiil man’s, darker than Felix and Gereon’s though and Miraak, used to either grey Dunmer, pale Atmorans or tentacled denizens of Apocrypha, couldn’t take his eyes off him. He had muscles. _Muscles._ But not overly so, and clearly this man fought with magic, not a blade. And his voice sounded delightful. He was probably intelligent too. All of which added up to one inescapable conclusion.

Mate. This one. Definitely this one. Was he into men? Did he have a lover already? Miraak was seriously contemplating murdering the lover if he did. As it was, here he was, moving with a fluid grace that hypnotised Miraak, commanding his magic with a confidence Miraak saw only rarely among the mages of Thedas. Even Vivienne’s had been controlled very carefully, but this man wielded it like an extra limb.

Miraak had to have him. Had to.

It was at that moment that one of the terror demons upended Miraak’s future husband, and Miraak lost his head completely.

“YOU WILL _NOT_ TOUCH HIM! IIZ SLEN NUS!”

Thu’um froze it solid and lightning magic blasted it apart, and that was the signal for everyone to join the fray. Miraak barely noticed. Miraak had demons to kill, and even though the mage had got to his feet, apparently unharmed, Miraak wasn’t taking any chances. Every demon that made a move towards this mage was the one Miraak fell most savagely on.

The mage noticed but didn’t say anything, just blasting away at demons, fighting alongside Miraak, getting to a few demons Miraak hadn’t even noticed going for him, apparently watching Miraak’s back just as Miraak watched his, until finally the last one died and Miraak shouted the rift shut.

Miraak felt time settle down again, the rage subsiding as it registered it was all over and his mate was safe.

Getting his breath back, he straightened up to see the mage staring at him, clearly impressed.

“How did you _do_ that?” he gasped, and Miraak finally got a closer look at his face, seeing bright grey eyes, expertly maintained moustache and beautifully formed cheekbones Miraak could spend hours just tracing a finger over.

Stendarr, Mara and Kyne, this man was beautiful.

“I told it to seal itself,” Miraak told him, belatedly realising he’d been asked a question and should probably answer it. “It did so. My Voice can do that. Among many other things.”

“So I see,” the mage said, eyebrows raised. “You’re going to have to tell me more about how you learnt to do that sometime. It’s not magic, is it? Not like anything I ever saw.”

“No,” Miraak said rather proudly. “I’m a very unique man. You will not meet another like me.”

The mage responded with a knowing grin that told Miraak that had hit its mark.

“Is that so,” the mage said, tilting his head. “I look forward to finding out how unique, Lord Herald Miraak. It is you, isn’t it. I’d heard about the Voice magic. I’d thought they might be exaggerating about the masked man of mystery who fell out of the Fade and shouts at the world and it does what he tells it. But no! Here you are and you’re as impressive a force of nature as they said you were.”

Miraak straightened up, grinning and trying to do something impressive with his hair before remembering it was tied back and hidden, and once more he wanted to rip the mask off… but this time knowing this man could definitely look on Miraak if he wanted.

“I am a Dovahkiin. We are nothing but,” Miraak purred, and this could have gone on all day had Cassandra not intervened.

“We received a note. Did you send it? Who are you and what is your business here, magister?”

The mage just sighed heavily, shoulders sagging in weary despair. As if he’d expected this and yet hadn’t wanted to answer.

“All right. Let’s get this out of the way. My name is Dorian Pavus, scion of House Pavus and the repository of its hopes and dreams. I am a mage, from Tevinter, yes, but I am not a magister. Not all mages from Tevinter are magisters – I realise you people use the terms interchangeably but that just makes you sound like barbarians. Magisters are the mages that have seats in the Magisterium, the primary legislative body of the Imperium. My father is one. Gereon Alexius is another. I am not.”

Miraak filed every detail of this away for future reference, because now his new beloved had a name and family. Dorian Pavus. Of House Pavus. The magister’s son. Repository of its hopes and dreams so probably a firstborn. Definitely educated. High opinion of himself, but it was probably justified and Miraak wasn’t one to condemn a healthy ego.

A worthy mate for the Dovahkiin, yes he was.

“Well then, Dorian Pavus who is not a magister,” Miraak said, amused and a little enthralled. “Did you send me the note? And what do you know about Magister Alexius? How exactly did he bend time itself – or was it someone else? You’d need a Kel for something like that, an Elder Scroll. Does the Imperium have those at its disposal?”

“It has a lot of ancient scrolls but not one that can bend time,” Dorian said, frowning, and Miraak took that to mean this land had no Kelle of its own. So how in Oblivion…

“But that you knew what had happened without me telling you – do you mind telling me how? Are you familiar with the magic in question?” Dorian seemed almost put out at Miraak knowing already.

“I am naturally attuned to the flow of time, I can tell when it has been mangled,” Miraak said, shrugging. “But you didn’t answer my question. How did he do it?”

Dorian looked away, shaking his head, ego fading into sorrow… and guilt.

“It was my theory originally,” Dorian said sadly. “I was his apprentice once, you know. We worked on it together in Minrathous. It was just theory. We could never get it to work. After his wife died, it became an obsession. He blamed himself, you see. Thought if he could rewrite the past, he could be there and save her. But nothing we did ever worked, and eventually we fell out. Argued. I ended up leaving. I lost track of what became of him after that. Until Felix wrote to me from Ferelden of all places telling me his father was in over his head and begging me to come and help. I came here and discovered that thanks to the Breach bending reality, our time magic project actually worked, and Gereon was using it to steal the rebel mages. It’s not the experimental validation I was hoping for, let me tell you.”

Which explained much. But not why, or what Gereon Alexius needed the rebel mages for. And why was Felix turning on his own father?

The door opened behind them, and the man himself arrived, glancing behind him to make sure he’d not been followed, and Dorian’s sorrow vanished at once.

“Felix! There you are! Took you long enough, old chap! Did you manage to give your father the slip?”

“Yes, but I shouldn’t have used the illness card. He was fussing for ages,” Felix sighed. “Never mind, I made it. Hello Herald. Sorry for falling on you. I didn’t have any better ideas on how to get your attention. Has Dorian been filling you in?”

“Yes. Your father managed to get time magic to work and has rewritten time to steal the mage rebellion,” Miraak said, hand on his hips as he eyed the interloper, wondering just how close he was to Dorian exactly. Still, despite smiling at each other and clearly being friends, there was no embrace. No possessive territory marking. Interesting. And welcome. “What I’ve yet to hear is why.”

Felix shook his head, staring darkly into the distance.

“He joined a cult,” Felix said bitterly. “Tevinter supremacists called the Venatori who want everything to be like it was in the old days. Make Tevinter Great Again, or so they say. They want all Thedas as part of the Imperium, and they swear allegiance to this so-called Elder One. No idea who he is, I never met him. Father has but wouldn’t bring me, and that’s a worry in itself. Normally he’s happy to have me in his business meetings, but not the Venatori ones.”

“Felix was never able to learn magic,” Dorian explained, but he didn’t seem to pity Felix. Strange. “I imagine the Venatori frown on that.”

“They don’t approve, that’s true,” Felix admitted. “But I’m not the one they’re obsessed with, Herald.”

“Oh, it’s true,” Dorian said, glancing at Miraak to see how he was taking this. “Apparently they’re furious at you not only surviving the explosion but dealing with the rifts. I’ve surmised from that the Elder One, whoever he is, may well have been involved and took exception to you ruining all his hard work. And now he’s got my old mentor to rewrite time and steal the mage rebellion out from under you. Likely to stop you having them.”

So. He had a rival. Very interesting indeed. It was a shame Dorian had never met the Elder One, but that might have meant Dorian on the other side, and that was a waste and a shame. 

“So what did you have in mind,” Miraak asked. There was a plan in the works, right?

Wrong, apparently.

“Me?” Dorian asked, surprised. “I felt I had to warn you, but as to what he’s up to or how to fix what he’s done… I don’t know. He’s managed to damage time itself, and that damage is only going to spread. I heard you were coming, and knew you needed to be warned, but as to what to do… I was rather hoping the heroic Herald of Andraste and his mighty Inquisition might have a few ideas. You’re not a fool, Miraak, I’ve known you for all of five minutes and I worked that out. You’re a very powerful and intimidating man, and an intelligent one too. A rare combination. And you have that attunement to time and your Voice magic. Which fixed the rifts, and helped mend time, just a little. I don’t think you can revert this back to the original timestream, but you might be able to stop this getting worse. The Elder One and his minions wouldn’t be so concerned about you if you couldn’t.”

That was a compliment, of a sort. That Dorian thought he was powerful, intimidating and intelligent already… that definitely was.

“So you want me to stop Alexius, get him out of Redcliffe and claim the mage rebellion for the Inquisition,” Miraak said thoughtfully. Dorian smiled, lighting up and Miraak momentarily forgot to breathe.

“See, I knew you’d understand,” Dorian said cheerfully. “Yes please. If it’s not too much trouble? I will of course assist in whatever capacity you require me in.”

Fantasies of just how Dorian could assist assailed Miraak, who wanted nothing more than to rip Dorian’s leather armour off him, pin him to the ground and claim him. But there were too many people here watching… including Felix, still an unknown quantity.

“What about you, Felix? Would you be all right with this happening? To your own father?”

Felix didn’t look remotely happy about the idea but he nodded slowly.

“This cult would be a horrible thing for both Tevinter and the world,” Felix finally said. “I know he’s my father, but this is a disaster in the making. I can’t let that happen. Can you do it without killing him? If possible? I don’t care about his men, if they need to die, they need to. But… if we can end it non-violently, I’d prefer that. I can probably persuade him to stand down but he needs to realise it’s hopeless first.”

Miraak couldn’t guarantee any such thing… but he became aware of Dorian looking sympathetically at Felix then looking hopefully up at him, and Miraak looked into those stunning grey eyes and realised he could deny this man nothing.

“I will try,” he promised. “If he’s willing to surrender, I can promise an arrest rather than an execution. If he surrenders.”

“Thank you,” Felix said gratefully, and Dorian seemed pleased too.

“All right, you should get back to Haven and start working on your cunning plan,” Dorian said, cheery air of nonchalance back. “I have a few things to prepare myself, and I can’t stay here. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here and I’d like to keep it that way. But I’ll be in touch. Oh, and Felix? Try not to get yourself killed. You too, Miraak. We do rather need you alive.”

“There’s worse things than dying, Dorian,” Felix said, watching fondly as Dorian slipped out of the side door, and then Felix was leaving via the front, leaving Miraak in a silent Chantry, whispering Dorian’s name to himself and wondering what it’d sound like on his lips at the point of orgasm, moaned into Dorian’s shoulder.

Dorian, Dorian, Dorian. Beautiful, entrancing Dorian. Of course Miraak was going to help. He didn’t know how yet, but that was what advisors were for, was it not?

“So… we’re mates with some magey Tevinter now, are we? Great,” Sera muttered, and Miraak just about resisted the urge to wring her neck.

“Hey, he seemed sincere about wanting to help, don’t judge him,” Varric told her. “Judge his over the top dress sense and his ego by all means, but he’s not a creepy cultist.”

“That’s the bar, is it? Not a creepy cultist? Great,” Sera sighed.

“She’s not wrong,” Cassandra said, clearly disapproving of this whole scenario. “He’s the magister’s apprentice. How can we trust him?”

“Former apprentice,” Miraak said firmly. “Clearly no longer. That this magister’s former apprentice and his own son are those agitating for his overthrow says much. Come now, you cannot be in favour of a Tevinter magister taking over an entire town. There are ordinary citizens still living here, don’t forget.”

“I did not say we should do nothing,” Cassandra said, frowning. “Only that you should not be too quick to trust this man. You barely know him.”

A detail Miraak would waste little time rectifying if he had his way. If Dorian permitted it, of course. Miraak had a feeling he would. He was already fascinated by the Thu’um. Miraak would see to it he remained fascinated… and kept coming back for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the Dovah:
> 
> Vennesetiid, wuldsetiid - currents of time, wind of time, basically the fabric of space-time as seen by Dovah. Used fairly interchangeably, by me anyway.
> 
> Tiid-Ahkraan - Time Wound.
> 
> I like playing with the idea that Dragonborns can sense the flow of time and know immediately when it's been messed with. Also Miraak the self-centred prick knowing dragon theology that they were created to maintain the Veil and Cosmic Order and therefore feeling morally obliged to fix this godawful mess even though he's personally up and ready to walk out and go find the Templars.
> 
> Next chapter is when In Hushed Whispers gets going. It's taking a while to write, mainly due to Miraak being particularly badly affected by the wuldsetiid in shreds, red lyrium everywhere and no Veil in sight.


	5. In Hushed Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a magister in charge of Redcliffe, the Inquisition has no choice but to act... but with all the Council members torn on their course of action, Miraak's idea of helping Dorian could be dead in the water. Fortunately, Dorian himself might just be able to assist with that - but a Tevinter mage will have some work to do before the Inquisition accepts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter but the end seemed a good place to leave it. This is essentially the first half of In Hushed Whispers, in which Miraak is still very much smitten, his advisors can't agree on anything unless he forces the issue and Dorian is both trying to avoid being smothered by his new admirer while at the same time secretly craving the affection. I hope I got the balance right but I can tell you one thing - these two are fun!

Back in Haven, and no word from Dorian. Nothing, not a letter, not a note, nothing.

_He said he’d keep in touch. Why isn’t he keeping in touch? He knows where I am. I don’t know where he is. He could be anywhere. What if there’s demons. Bandits. Or the Venatori catch him. The roads aren’t safe. He’s not safe!_

All Miraak knew was he wasn’t there, which meant Miraak couldn’t protect him. Which bothered Miraak. It bothered him a lot. But there was little he could do. Only keep his word and get the Venatori out of Redcliffe so Dorian would be that bit safer.

Sadly, his advisors seemed to have other ideas.

“Redcliffe Castle is the most defensible fortress in Ferelden, we can’t just lay siege to it!” Cullen sighed. “We don’t have the soldiers!”

“There is the further complication that Redcliffe is in Ferelden. We are an Andrastian organisation, even if the Orlesian Chantry doesn’t officially back us. If we march an army into Ferelden without Queen Anora’s permission, it could spark a war.”

Gods damn it, he’d thought Josephine would understand. 

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister!” Cassandra cried, and Miraak mentally thanked her. For all her distrust of Dorian, her heart was in the right place. “This cannot be allowed to stand!”

“No, of course not,” Cullen sighed. “But it’s not our place. If the arl’s fled his seat, he’ll go straight to Denerim for Queen Anora’s aid. Let the Fereldan army deal with it. We should get the Templars instead.”

“It would be the easier option for us,” Josephine said quietly. 

Not for Miraak, it wasn’t. He glanced at Leliana, who’d been quiet so far, clearly thinking things over, and he knew she was sympathetic to the rebellion.

“There might be a way,” Leliana said thoughtfully. “Redcliffe Castle has a secret tunnel – it was an escape tunnel for the family in times of trouble. Lyra and I used it during the Blight to liberate the castle then as well. I could send spies in to deal with this magister. With him gone, the promise of a life in Tevinter evaporates and the mages are freed up to assist us.”

“I was hoping not to have to kill him,” Miraak said, thinking of Felix and Dorian both, and Cullen threw up his hands.

“Not have to – you’re not leaving us a lot of options!” Cullen cried. “The man’s a magister and he’s taken over a strategic town in Ferelden, do you think the crown will be any more merciful?”

Probably not, no. But the blood wouldn’t be on his hands. Which was an argument for leaving this whole situation behind him, wasn’t it.

And risk never seeing Dorian again. No. He wasn’t having it.

“I want Gereon Alexius pushed into a situation where he realises he has no option but to surrender,” Miraak growled. “If he’s intending to fight to the death, then so be it, but he has to have the option to stand down. I don’t think he will fight to the death, he has his son with him. So. Give me a strategy with that as the outcome.”

“Then we infiltrate the castle and start eliminating his men before they realise we’re there,” Leliana said, glancing at the others. “It can happen, Miraak. But we’ll need a distraction. Something to occupy Magister Alexius.”

Yes. Good. This could work. Miraak was all in favour of Inquisition agents sneaking in and killing Alexius’s soldiers. He didn’t actually have that many. Remove his soldiers and Alexius would have no means of enforcing his authority and then Miraak could overpower him. Of course, that meant Miraak there in person and… he was the first to admit stealth wasn’t his strong point.

“I’d like to be there if I can, but your spies don’t want me following them in,” Miraak said, itching to get his hands on Alexius. “If I were to go there more openly and challenge him somehow… would that be the distraction you need?”

“Yes, but you’d be in danger,” Leliana said, actually sounding worried about him. Bless her murderous little heart.

“Don’t fear for me, I assure you I am no weakling,” Miraak said, amused. And then Josephine spoke up.

“Wait. He did write. Apologising for having to cut negotiations short and inviting you in person to negotiate. Leliana, I showed you the letter, remember?”

“I remember,” Leliana said, nodding. “He wrote in terms so glowing and complimentary, we’re fairly certain he wants to kill you. If you wanted to challenge him in person, we could accept the invitation. That would get you into the castle and focus attention on you and off the secret way in. You’d still be in danger, but you wouldn’t have to worry about being shot on sight. Keep him talking long enough. Once my agents have got to the throne room, that’s when you can make your move.”

Miraak was more than capable of that. This sounded more and more like a plan coming together. Excellent. It only remained-

He became aware of shouting in the Chantry beyond.

“Sir, you’re not authorised to attend council meetings, sir, you need to stop, sir you can’t go in there, sir, SIR!”

The war room door flung open and Dorian Pavus strode in, ignoring the harried Inquisition agent staggering behind him.

“Miraak! There you are!” Dorian said cheerfully. “Sorry I’m late. Turns out sneaking out of occupied Redcliffe is harder than you think. Found a way of unseating Alexius yet?”

“Sir, I’m sorry,” the breathless agent gasped. “This man says he has information on the magister and his methods. And that he’s a personal friend of the Herald.”

Exasperated sigh from Cassandra, but Miraak didn’t care. Dorian hadn’t forgotten him! Dorian was here! Right here in Haven! Ready and willing to help, and Miraak could feel his heart singing at the sight.

“Dorian,” was all Miraak said, stepping forward and pulling Dorian into his arms for a hug. And by Mara, he felt and smelled amazing. Yes. Dorian belonged here, with him, in his arms forever.

Dorian actually gasped, clearly not having expected that and it belatedly occurred to Miraak that perhaps in Tevinter people didn’t hug their friends as much as was considered normal for Atmorans (because of course you hugged your friends, it kept them warm). But then he felt Dorian ever so slightly relax, leaning into him and clearly not objecting. For a few brief seconds, they stayed like that, and then Dorian loosened his grip, clearly wanting to slip away. 

Reluctantly, Miraak let him go. He was here. It was enough. For now.

“We’re just letting Tevinter agents walk into Haven now, are we?” he heard Cullen snap, and Miraak turned angrily around to face his advisors, arm around Dorian.

“He’s no Tevinter agent, he’s a friend of mine,” Miraak snapped. “He was the one who raised the alarm about what Alexius was up to, and he’s going to help us. Dorian, this is Commander Cullen who leads our troops. Ambassador Josephine Montilyet who handles our diplomatic efforts. And this is Sister Leliana. She looks after our spies. Seeker Pentaghast you have met already. Council. This is Dorian Pavus. Treat him with the same respect you would me. Anyone who gives him trouble is feeling my Thu’um.”

“Herald, we talked about this,” Cassandra said, warning note in her voice. “About not trusting people you only just met.”

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen muttered. “Well, if he’s got useful information, he’s got useful information, but he’s _not_ joining the Council.”

“Quite all right by me, Commander, I despise meetings,” Dorian said cheerfully before Miraak could leap to his defence. “My interest here is in stopping Gereon Alexius from doing even more damage to time than he already has, and to that end, I am quite willing to co-operate fully with Inquisition efforts.”

“Including Inquisition vetting?” Leliana said, eyeing him carefully.

“Including Inquisition vetting, yes,” Dorian sighed. “Heavens forbid anyone unsuitable get close to the sainted Herald of Andraste. I have nothing to hide, Sister.”

Leliana nodded, smiling a little, her hostility fading.

“Then welcome to the Inquisition, Dorian Pavus,” Leliana said. “As a matter of fact, we do have a plan. Our spies are infiltrating Redcliffe Castle while Lord Miraak meets with Alexius for negotiations. Were you intending to join the negotiations?”

“Heavens no, if Alexius sees me there he’ll know something’s up. No, you’ll need me with the spies to dismantle any magical defences he’s got in place. I know what he uses in his estate in Minrathous, used to maintain it. I know how to get your people past it. If you want this to work, you need me there. Also Miraak will need a signal to change the talks into an arrest attempt. My presence should work.”

That it would, and Dorian being there for the denouement would be extremely welcome indeed. So a plan was agreed, and the meeting broke up, and Miraak wasted no time catching up with Dorian to check if he needed anything.

To his surprise, Dorian closed his eyes wearily, rubbing his forehead.

“Look, the attention is appreciated, don’t for a moment think it isn’t,” Dorian sighed. “And it is good to see you again. But you are aware this is only our second meeting, yes? Normally extravagant demonstrations of affection and ordering your people to treat me with the same respect they’d give you take a little longer to emerge?”

Miraak had already been an up and coming dragon priest when he’d first laid eyes on Saering, and Saering had been both touched and flattered by his advances. Atmorans in general did not wait around once mutual attraction had been established. Anything could happen. Solstheim and mainland Skyrim were not hospitable places. Beasts. Spriggans. Avalanches. Snowstorms. The ever present cold. When the gods might take your beloved from you at any time, no one waited around or held back once their advances had been accepted. Dorian’s reticence was… troubling.

“You told my people that you were a close friend of mine to get an audience and moved on to first name terms virtually immediately when most people call me Your Worship or Herald,” Miraak growled. “I forgive the intimacy because it is welcome… but don’t do things like that if you don’t want me to respond in kind.”

“I don’t – Miraak!” Dorian protested. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but your Seeker Pentaghast isn’t wrong. You shouldn’t just open your heart to a man you only just met. Trust me on this one. It never ends well.”

Shadows in his eyes, and bitterness in his voice, and someone in his past had clearly taken advantage of and hurt him before now. How dare they. 

At some point, Miraak was getting the details off Dorian and asking Leliana if killing them was a possibility. But not yet. All in good time. Miraak could back off. A little. For a time. He supposed. If it made Dorian more comfortable.

“All right. Fine. I will leave you be. I suppose Leliana wishes to take you away for vetting in any case. I don’t think it’s necessary but if you don’t object…”

“I don’t,” Dorian said firmly. “I know how my country’s regarded in these parts, Miraak, and in all honesty, they’re not entirely wrong. I know I’m trustworthy, and I’m very gratified that you see that, but everyone else needs to see it too, don’t you see?”

“I suppose,” Miraak muttered, not seeing this at all, but if Dorian insisted, who was he to argue. “All right. When you’re done with Leliana, Josephine is the one to see for accommodation. You’ll find my cabin near the main gates, just off the path. Anyone can point you there. Any trouble, anything at all, come and find me. You’re my guest. If matters are not to your liking, I wish to know.”

Dorian turned and stared up at him, surprised, and Miraak wondered if he’d overstepped the mark. But no. To his surprise, Dorian actually smiled.

“You know, it’s a good thing I have a sense of how to behave, I swear you’re trying to turn me into the worst kind of diva.”

“Is it so wrong to wish to see a friend taken care of?” Miraak asked, deliberately lingering on the word ‘friend’. Dorian shook his head.

“No, not at all. But I am a grown man, you don’t need to tend to my every need.”

“I don’t _have_ to, no,” Miraak agreed, letting the implication hang in the air. Honestly, what was wrong with him. Couldn’t he just let Miraak spoil him?

“I can see I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I,” Dorian said, smiling ruefully. “All right, Miraak, fuss as you must. The other alternative is you move on to someone else with far fewer scruples who takes complete advantage of your good nature. And we can’t let that happen, can we?”

No. No they couldn’t. Miraak inwardly cheered, partly for Dorian thinking he had a good nature (Miraak was fairly convinced he had no such thing but wasn’t arguing) but also very much liking the acknowledgement that Dorian did not want Miraak to move on to someone else.

No chance of that, not now, not ever. But perhaps Dorian wasn’t ready to hear that yet. After all, he wasn’t an Atmoran. Perhaps Tevinter had very different courtship norms. Perhaps… by Stuhn, Miraak knew nothing about Tevinter culture at all. He needed to remedy that. Bidding Dorian farewell, Miraak went in search of his ambassador. He had a lot of reading to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Well. That had been… thorough. Questions about everything. His entire life story. His family, upbringing, magical skills, his relationship with the Alexius family, why he’d come south in the first place… and his interest in the Herald.

Dorian had really hoped she wouldn’t ask that. But there was Leliana sitting opposite him with a couple of her agents looking on, and taking notes. Wanting to know his opinion on the Herald.

“He’s one of the most stubborn men I’ve ever met,” Dorian admitted. “Very determined and persistent. If he wants something, he gets it. He’s also an extremely powerful mage with unknown powers, and someone taught him how to wield a sword. That probably means he never went to a southern Circle, doesn’t it.”

“I’m aware of his history,” Leliana said frostily. “I wanted to know your interest in him.”

“Well, what do you want me to say, Sister?” Dorian protested. “I sought his aid because he’s a powerful man and probably the only one capable of standing up to this Elder One. And because the Venatori are obsessed with him. Someone needed to warn him, and so I took it upon myself to do that.”

“You met him once in Redcliffe, yet when you came here, you’re using his first name and telling my agents he’s a close friend of yours,” Leliana said, eyes narrowed. “And he responds, not by Shouting you out of the Chantry but by embracing you and insisting we all treat you with respect. On your second meeting. What exactly is going on between you two?”

“Nothing’s going on – oh Maker help me,” Dorian sighed. This, this was exactly what he’d wanted to avoid, and here he was getting grilled. “Look, you might want to ask him that. We met in Redcliffe Chantry, and this rift opened up just as he walked in. I asked him for help with the demons then one of them knocked me to my feet. And that’s when he shouted ‘how dare you touch him?’ at it and went on the aggressive. And that’s been the tone of our interactions ever since. He’s either bragging about his own abilities or fussing over me. I have asked him to stop, but he won’t have it. I… really shouldn’t have name-dropped. I’m sorry. I just wanted in on the meeting, and to see Miraak again.”

Damn it. Leliana looked up, eyebrows raised.

“You wanted to see him again?”

“Yes,” Dorian admitted. “He’s – oh I don’t know. He’s not like anyone else I know. It’s not just the power. It’s that he’s got the strongest personality of anyone I ever met and doesn’t seem to fear anything. And then you have all that and suddenly it realises you’re there and you’re the focus of this _attention_. It’s… exhilarating. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t bother the Herald. But it’s very hard to do when he can’t seem to leave you alone.”

Leliana had stopped writing, and Dorian looked up to see actual, honest to goodness, sympathy in her eyes. Was he dreaming?

“Do you want him to leave you alone?”

Yes. No. Miraak probably wasn’t going to give him much choice in the matter.

“No,” Dorian said softly. “But he really should. Better for everyone that way. Also I only just met him.”

Leliana wrote something down and closed the book.

“We’re going to need to verify everything you told me,” Leliana told him. “But as far as I’m concerned, you can stay. Josephine has probably found you a bed by now. But before you go, might I offer some advice?”

Dorian indicated for her to go on, because goodwill from the spymaster was definitely worth cultivating.

“Stand up to Miraak if you need to,” Leliana said, and that was a surprise. “And listen to your instincts. He has more raw power than anyone else in the Inquisition, and he’s a dangerous man. Be careful.”

“I – I will. Thank you,” Dorian said, not having expected that. Sympathy? From the spymaster? A sense of support for him and not automatically siding with their Herald? Interesting! That eased his mind considerably. Miraak’s personality was like a burning sun, and while the warmth was lovely, one wrong move and it could destroy you just as easily, not even intentionally on Miraak’s part. Just by him being him. 

Knowing at least one person here would understand if he needed to keep Miraak at arm’s length for his own sanity made all the difference.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Josephine had not had much on Tevinter society, but she’d had more than he’d imagined, including a few romance novels set there. All written by Orlesians, so of limited use, but she’d lent him a few written by authors known for either meticulous research or an acquaintance with the country.

Miraak had disappeared off to his cabin, and been so engrossed in his reading he’d not realised until it was quite late that Dorian had not dropped by. Which led to his own worries and wondering if it was too late to disturb Josephine and ask where his quarters were so he could make sure they were suitable. It probably was far too late, wasn’t it.

So a restless night it was, and in the morning, time to join the carriage for Redcliffe. The courier with their reply had left yesterday, and today was their own departure. In addition to Dorian, Varric and the newly arrived Blackwall made up the rest of the party. He found all three of them outside Haven, standing next to the cart, and Sera there as well, perched on the side of the cart. All three having an animated conversation and sounding like the best of friends already.

It went suspiciously quiet when Miraak arrived. And then Varric far too smoothly ended the awkward silence.

“Tentacles, you made it! Buttercup and the Hero here were telling Sparkler how they met you. It’s been quite the morning. And evening! And afternoon and… you know, you should try socialising some time. You’d enjoy it!”

“Hey, how’d you eat and drink with the mask on?” Sera called from the cart. “Does it have a hole for a straw or something?”

Miraak growled at her, and Sera took no heed whatsoever.

“No,” Miraak snapped. “There’s a reason I eat in private.”

“Exactly, this is why you need to live a little, Tentacles! Take the mask off! Let your hair down! Show the world you’re a normal human being!”

“I’m not one and they know it,” Miraak said, scowling although it wouldn’t change their reactions. “Why make an entire tavern uncomfortable?”

“Knew it! The tentacles are his actual face!” Sera crowed, and Miraak was so very close to Shouting her off the carriage. Annoying elf wasn’t even coming with him.

“You are not even coming, Sera,” Miraak growled. “You do not need to be here.”

“What? Wanted to see you all off!” Sera protested. “All right, all right, bloody hell, I’ll go…”

“Pint when we get back, right?” Blackwall said cheerfully, waving her off. 

“Sneak into his tent and tell me about the tentacles!” Sera called, before immediately fleeing the scene. 

“You will do no such thing,” Miraak said firmly, and Blackwall laughed and promised he wouldn’t.

“No need to worry about me sneaking into your tent while you’re asleep, I’m not that way inclined,” Blackwall said, hefting his pack and slinging it onto the carriage, before climbing in to get it stowed under the seats. “Pass me yours and I can get that stowed as well. You too, Varric.”

This operation involved both Varric and Blackwall suspiciously absenting themselves, leaving him alone with a slightly sheepish Dorian.

“We may have been talking about you,” Dorian admitted. “I found the tavern last night, had enough money for a drink, and then Varric and Sera found me, and then Blackwall arrived. You know, Haven is really rather charming! Quaint. Rustic. Quite the little mountain hideaway.”

That had not been Josephine’s opinion, although she’d framed it diplomatically. 

“The cold isn’t bothering you?” Miraak asked. The cotton cape wrapped round his shoulders was no defence against a harsh winter.

Dorian stopped, eyed him, and the smile faded a little.

“It’s fine, Miraak,” Dorian said quietly. “Please don’t fuss. I had a most entertaining evening in the tavern getting to know people, and no one called me any ethnic slurs or gave me any trouble, although I think Blackwall might need some time to warm up to me. But it’s because he hates nobles, not because of the magic or me being from Tevinter. He was saying some terrible things about Orlesians. But I digress. My quarters were warm enough, the bed was considerably better than the places I slept in on the way up here, and I got enough sleep and a good breakfast. The Inquisition is looking after me, Miraak. You don’t need to be there in person.”

“No, but I should have been,” Miraak said quietly. “You were on your own in a strange place, I should have been there. I’m sorry.”

“On my own in a strange place has been most of my life, I’m quite used to it,” Dorian said, brushing him off. “You don’t need to go to all this trouble on my account. But… I like that you cared. I’m not used to people actually worrying.”

Miraak the Dragonborn, a man not used to worrying or thinking about other people’s feelings, felt his heart go out to Dorian, because being alone in the world was no way to be. Dorian deserved better. The fact that had been Miraak’s lot on an emotional level for literally millennia never crossed his mind, just as it never once occurred to him Dorian would eventually learn of this too and form opinions of his own.

As it was, Miraak looked at Dorian and only barely resisted the urge to take him into his arms again and just tell him he meant it, there were feelings involved, he’d take care of Dorian forever if he wanted. But Dorian clearly wasn’t ready and so he resisted.

Dorian had been watching him carefully, quite possibly waiting for an emotional reaction before remembering the mask hid all. Then he shrugged and changed the subject.

“So anyway, I’m sharing quarters with this elven apostate, Solas. A remarkable fellow, you know! Did you know he’s a somniarus? A dreamer?”

A what now. As if Solas needed to be any more dangerous?

“Explain,” Miraak said, bristling at the idea of the suspicious apostate near his intended. “What is a somniarus. He has talked of visiting the Fade in dreams.”

“Yes, and we all do that, but we none of us have control of the process,” Dorian explained. “But he does! When he sleeps, he remembers his dreams and can control them! I’d have to take lyrium to get into the Fade. He just takes a nap?? As I said, fascinating! He was telling me about the various spirits he’s befriended over the years. I’m not entirely sure he was pleased when I told him all the uses we have for spirits in Tevinter.”

“If he had his way, there’d be no Veil, just joor and Deyra, mortals and Daedra, living in harmony,” Miraak growled. “He does not understand the Daedra have no desire to live in harmony with us. Trust nothing from Feim that you have not bound. And do not trust that elf.”

“Meaning you don’t,” Dorian said thoughtfully. “And yet he’s still here.”

“We have no way of tracing him should he leave,” Miraak said, still annoyed how little they’d been able to turn up about Solas’s past. “Here we may keep an eye on him. See if he is in league with anyone else.”

“In league with wh-” Dorian fell silent, staring at the Breach. “In league with whoever created that?? You really think so?”

“Is it so far a stretch,” Miraak said quietly. “He would see the Veil lowered and spirits and joor mingling. Is it so hard to believe he might have contributed to that, or knows the people who did? But I have no evidence.”

“No, I imagine not,” Dorian said sombrely. “Well, I can keep an eye on what he’s up to, but he’s a dreamer, Miraak. If he wanted to feed someone information, he doesn’t need coded missives or a dead drop. He can just take a nap.”

Miraak really hadn’t wanted to hear that, but Dorian taking him seriously was welcome news. Yes. Dorian was definitely worth keeping around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Back at Redcliffe, and while last time people had had no warning he was coming, this time people knew and this times they looked… on edge. Nervous. Tense. As if they knew this time would be different. Something would change, certainly. Miraak didn’t know what.

What he did know was Dorian had slipped away with the spies two nights ago to get in place and for all Miraak knew he’d been caught already and the game was up.

It bothered him. But he couldn’t let it stop him, not now. All he could do was go through with it… and avenge Dorian if he had to. Or use Bend Will if it could save him.

They were let into the castle without incident and shown into the keep’s throne room. True to form, the throne itself was a wooden one with carvings of those ugly hairless dogs the Fereldans seemed to think were sacred animals all over it. Miraak preferred his dogs as wolf-like as possible. With fur that kept the cold out. Not these wretched mabari.

Alexius’s attendant, a Fereldan man who might well have acted as seneschal to the arl before, stopped him before he could even approach the throne.

“The invitation was for the Herald alone,” he said firmly. “Not these two.”

Miraak folded his arms. The brief was to keep Alexius talking and drag things out, so drag things out he would.

“They go where I go,” Miraak growled. “The dwarf is my indispensable personal assistant who will be taking notes. Blackwall here is my bodyguard. If they are not to come with me, we all remain here.”

The seneschal clearly wasn’t being paid enough for this, because he let them all proceed to where Alexius was waiting with no further protest.

He was sitting in the chair, not looking anxious or worried – triumphant if anything. Beside him was Felix, staring into the middle distance and doing his best to look as if he’d never laid eyes on Miraak before. Grand Enchanter Fiona was also present, but no sign of Dorian. Thank the gods.

“My lord magister,” the steward said, bowing. “Lord Miraak, Herald of Andraste and Inquisition personnel.”

Alexius actually smiled, getting out of the chair. 

“My friend! It’s so good to see you again. And your… associates.”

Full points for being able to lie through his teeth that convincingly. Had he truly thought Miraak would just walk in alone?

“Where I go, my Inquisition goes,” Miraak said calmly. “Magister Alexius. You have done nothing about the Arl’s unfortunate design choices?”

That actually made Alexius Senior laugh. 

“Alas, time has not permitted. Besides, it hardly matters. We will be gone soon enough, and then Arl Teagan may have his castle back. Tacky carvings of dogs notwithstanding.”

Ironic choice of words. But no. Don’t call him out yet.

“Now, we were here to work out an equitable arrangement regarding the mages,” Alexius continued, sitting back down. “So tell me, what is the Inquisition offering?”

“Wait, are we to have no say in our own fate?” Fiona interrupted. Alexius glared at her, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

“Fiona, you would not have trusted me with your people’s wellbeing if you did trust me with their lives,” Alexius said, a warning in his voice. Miraak seized the opportunity.

“I would be happy to welcome the Grand Enchanter as a guest of the Inquisition,” Miraak purred. “Now, you wanted to know what we have to offer? My ambassador knows everyone worth knowing in Orlais. Wealth, favours, she can procure it all.”

“With all due respect, Herald, I doubt she can procure me much from Orlais that I don’t already have,” Alexius said, frowning. “I’m going to need to hear something more specific.”

“He knows, Father!” Felix finally burst out. “About the time magic. The Venatori. Everything! He’s here to bring you in, not negotiate.”

Dawning horror in Alexius’s eyes as he turned to his son.

“Felix. What have you done?”

“It is safe to say your son does not share your allegiances,” Miraak said smoothly, even as he considered throttling Felix for giving the game away _too early_. No sign of Dorian yet, no way of knowing if Leliana’s people had got in place… and then he heard the unmistakeable sound of a throat being slit and a body slumping to the floor.

“Don’t try and turn my son against me, interloper!” Alexius snapped, getting to his feet, magicka definitely stirring in the air. “You think you can just walk into my stronghold with two people, hurl words at me like I’m a Fade rift, and think you’re _in control?_ You’re a charlatan, a pretender who has them all fooled into believing you’re some sort of prophet, but pitted against someone with real power, your blundering will be revealed for all to see!”

Alexius couldn’t see Miraak’s face, but he felt it then, the sense of magicka equal to – no, _superior to_ his own rising to greet him, lightning crackling in Miraak’s hands.

“You think I’ve hurled words at you?” Miraak hissed, his Atmoran sense of honour slighted, and this wouldn’t be him against some hapless Orlesian, oh no, this would be a true magical duel. Never mind that the last two hadn’t worked out so well for him. Promise be damned, he was ripping this magister limb from limb. “You haven’t even begun to feel my Thu’um! MUL QAH DIIV!”

Dragon Aspect flared into life as Miraak drew his sword and advanced.

“I will show you who has the real power here,” Miraak snarled. “I am taking the mages with me today. You have one chance to turn around and leave here unharmed. I suggest taking it.”

Genuine fear in Alexius’s eyes but he raised his staff anyway.

“No,” Alexius gasped. “You don’t understand. The Elder One has power you wouldn’t believe. Serving him is necessary, don’t you see? The Venatori will prevail! They – we – have to!”

“Father, are you listening to yourself? Do you know what you sound like?” Felix cried. “Please, he said he’d let you live if you surrendered.”

Alexius stared incomprehendingly at the son he’d never foreseen turning on him… and then the voice Miraak had been waiting for came.

“I recommend taking it, Gereon. Miraak isn’t someone to be trifled with. Fortunately he didn’t have any preconceived notions about Tevinters which is why he believed Felix and I when we told him what was going on and agreed to help. Hello by the way. Is that… a dragon illusion? No, it’s an actual magical amplifier, isn’t it! Fascinating!”

Dorian was looking him over with a smile as he came to stand beside him, and Miraak glanced around to see most of the Tevinter soldiers lying dead on the ground, and the steward being taken into custody by a group of Inquisition agents.

“Dorian,” Miraak said, not entirely concealing his relief. “You made it. Felix and I were on the point of convincing your former mentor to stand down.”

“No!” Alexius cried. “The Elder One said he could save Felix! I have to serve him, it’s the only way!”

“ _Save_ me??” Felix cried. “There’s no saving someone from the Blight! Father, you need to stop this. Please. Stand down, let the southern mages seal the Breach, and let’s just go home.”

Miraak turned sharply to Dorian who looked just as shocked as Miraak felt. Felix having the Blight?? No one had mentioned this, but it explained much.

“The Blight?” Miraak asked Dorian. “The same disease the Grey Wardens were set up to fight? How has Felix got it?? Did you know?”

“No but I should have guessed,” Dorian said wearily. “That’s how Livia – Felix’s mother – died. Felix was on his way home from studying in Orlais, she’d gone out to collect him. They were attacked by darkspawn on the way back and she died defending Felix. Felix doesn’t have magic, but she was a very powerful mage. I thought Felix had been lucky to survive. Not lucky enough.”

“And this Elder One who runs the Venatori offered a cure in return for service,” Miraak said, guessing the rest. Gods damn it. Parental love was notoriously hard to undermine but easy to manipulate.

“He said he’d save you,” Alexius was saying, haunted stare at his son. “If I undo the mistake at the temple…”

He saw dead Venatori, advancing Inquisition agents, his own son not co-operating, and Miraak with his Dragon Aspect on who was a fearsome opponent on his own, never mind with Dorian alongside him, and realised it was over. Unless…

He lifted an amulet from his tunic and fed it with sickly green magic.

“You are a mistake, an interloper!” Alexius cried. “You should never have existed!”

The spell came crackling Miraak’s way, and he had a ward up, but Bormah only knew what it actually did… except apparently so did Dorian who’d cried “NO!” and intercepted with his own counterspell even as he shoved Miraak aside.

Everything went vivid green then black. The colours of Apocrypha. Miraak cried out as he felt time torn apart… and then the wuldsetiid claimed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Miraak and Dorian trying to find their way home, in a world where Miraak's time sense is screaming at him and the song of the red lyrium is driving him up the wall, and it turns out his absence doomed the world and... man is going to need a hug, is all I'm saying.


	6. Dark Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dov are uniquely attuned to time... and also uniquely vulnerable. When Tevinter time magic manages to replicate the Banishing of Alduin, Miraak's feeling the effects like none other, and not coping well. It's down to Dorian Pavus to save the day, and what with having to reverse a time spell and keep a Dragonborn sane, he has his work cut out for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait. In Hushed Whispers needs posting, so here it is, before you forget where we got up to. Who wants to see Miraak have a nervous breakdown? Everyone? Good, good. Turns out 4000 years in Oblivion sensitises you to things. Such as the vennesetiid being fucked. Or red lyrium. This is far more canon than Age of the Dragon's version. I went too far in that fic. I truamatised myself writing it. This version is a bit more reigned in. We just get to see Miraak suffering instead. It's a good thing his not yet boyfriend's there to look after him, isn't it?

Time screamed back into being and Miraak staggered back, feeling water up to his knees and the horrifying song of the red lyrium ringing in his ears even as he felt time in ribbons around him.

Nothing was right. Everything was wrong, and even the feeling of Dorian still clinging to his robes did not cheer him. Because that meant Dorian was in danger too and that was worse.

“Dorian,” Miraak gasped. “Dorian, what was that spell, what did it do??”

“Blood of the Elder One, where’d they come from?” a man cried, and Miraak looked up to see two Venatori soldiers staring at him. From the rumpled state of their armour, they’d clearly snuck down here for a little private time. Alas they weren’t going to get their desire.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!” 

One died screaming in fire, and Miraak charged forward and impaled the other without even pausing for breath, before retrieving his sword and rattling the cell door. Locked, dammit!

“No, we can’t stay here, the Golmirodah is skahaan, we can’t stay HERE!” Miraak roared, giving the bars an extra-hard shove, and thanks to Dragon Aspect, the cell door buckled and broke, and Miraak ran out… only to realise more of the tainted singing rock was at the top of the stairs.

Sinking to the stairs, Miraak wrapped his arms around knees drawn to his chest, wanting nothing more than for it all to just -

“Stop!”

Dorian ran after him, and Miraak was aware of him standing there, looking on… and then carefully sitting next to him, a hand placed on his back.

“Miraak, please. Please talk to me. I know this looks bad, but we do have options. We’re both still alive. I might even be able to fix this! I… I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Time is wrong,” Miraak said softly. “Can’t you feel it? No, you probably can’t. It is like near the rift we sealed except worse. It’s in shreds, Dorian. I know a year has passed, but the currents of time are tangled in a way I never knew was possible… and it is screaming. Time itself is in agony and I can feel it. And that fucking red Gol-Skahaan _isn’t helping!_ ”

“No I imagine it isn’t,” Dorian said, voice gentle and kind as he moved nearer, placing an arm round his shoulders and resting his head against the mask, and Miraak only barely resisted the urge to rip it off and just hold Dorian in his arms. “Do you mind me asking how on earth you can sense time itself?”

“It’s in my blood,” Miraak said, closing his eyes and focusing on Dorian’s presence. Oddly, it helped. “The Dov – dragons – are uniquely attuned to time. I share their blood… and their vulnerabilities. What did that spell do, did it send us forward in time??”

“Er… yes,” Dorian admitted. “Yes it did. Not intentionally. It was supposed to wipe us – you – from existence entirely. Thankfully I was there and could counter it. As it is, it’s merely sent us forward instead. By a whole year apparently.”

“Fuck,” was all Miraak could say. Tevinter, quite without meaning to, had managed to recreate the magic of a Kel and done to him what Gormlaith, Hakon and Felldir had done to Alduin. He shuddered at the thought of what might happen if they fully understood what they’d done. Well. He might be about to find out.

“Yes. Quite,” Dorian said, rubbing his back. “Look, I know this is bad but… I can fix this, I promise. I know the theory intimately. If we can find Alexius and get that amulet off him, I can reverse the spell and send us back to when and where we left – more or less.”

Gods, Miraak really hoped so. As it was, there were a lot of ifs in that statement, and the path to Alexius was not going to be easy. But Dorian seemed confident, and it was a better plan than Miraak had.

“Then my Thu’um shall clear the way for you,” Miraak promised. “Dorian, you are sure you can do this.”

“Yes,” Dorian said, lifting a hand to cup the back of Miraak’s head. “Miraak, it’s going to be all right. I know it must feel terrifying right now, but please don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

Miraak finally felt his emotions break, tears in his eyes as he turned and reached for Dorian, wishing he could just take the mask off and kiss him… but not here. Not like this. But he could take Dorian in his arms and hold him, feeling frazzled emotions calming down at his intended’s touch.

He really shouldn’t be reacting like this. He should have better control of himself. But no one had ever really said that to him before. Not in adult life. Saering had been a skilled warrior but the protection he’d offered had been that of keeping threats at bay. No one had ever suggested he really needed the protection, only that their mighty Dragonborn should not be inconvenienced. No one had ever taken him in their arms and offered him comfort, or seen vulnerability that needed taking care of. Only his mother. And his older brother as a boy. Both long dead and gone.

Now here was Dorian, seeing him afraid and vulnerable and far from running, mocking or taking advantage, he was sitting with him until his feelings eased and promising he’d take care of him. 

It might be an empty promise, one Dorian had no hope of keeping. But Dorian had instinctively moved to protect him back in the hall with Alexius, and Miraak realised the bigger concern was not Dorian failing to protect him – it was that Dorian would do it at the expense of his own life.

That was not happening on Miraak’s watch, not now, not ever, and that motivation spurred him into action. Letting Dorian go, he got up, before reaching to help Dorian to his feet, pulling him into a full-body hug.

“Thank you, lokaaliin,” Miraak said, deciding that while translating the word was a discussion for another time entirely, Dorian had earned the right to the title. “If you can get us back safely, anything you want is yours, I swear it.”

Soft laughter from Dorian.

“Now there’s an offer,” Dorian said, amused. “Shall we focus on getting home first? We can talk about who owes what to whom later on, can’t we. And if I’m not mistaken, this is going to very much be a team effort.”

Quite possibly. Which meant they’d better get started.

“I have one request,” Miraak said, letting Dorian go. “If we’re not under attack or in obvious danger… will you hold my hand?”

Dorian actually laughed before realising he was serious and then his eyes widened and the oddest little noise escaped his throat and he nodded, holding his hand out.

“All right,” Dorian said gently. “I promise not to tell anyone.”

As if Miraak cared about that. All he cared about right now was getting home. That, and the man in front of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The exit from their section of the cells turned out to be a broad square shaft with metal grilles suspended in it to walk on. A raised drawbridge blocked the way to the main castle… and two Venatori soldiers were on patrol.

“FUS RO DAH!”

Miraak’s Thu’um sent one flying into the pit below, while his free hand cast a lightning bolt, the power of which sent the other soldier screaming to join his comrade.

“When you said your Thu’um would clear the way…” Dorian said, wide-eyed.

“I told no lie,” Miraak said, heading for one of the other doors, Dorian’s hand still in his. “I will get you to Alexius. The rest is down to you. Come, let’s see where this goes. I don’t suppose you remember your way round?”

“Let’s just say it’s changed a lot,” Dorian said delicately. “I remember it had the tackiest carvings of wolves and dogs imaginable. This…” he gestured at a crop of red lyrium sprouting out of the wall. “This is not an improvement.”

No disagreement there. Annoyingly, the door Miraak had picked led down to more cells, not up, but they found some better armour for Dorian and a few other things… and then Dorian realised one of the cells did actually have an occupant.

“My god, Fiona, is that you?”

Fiona was standing in the red lyrium – no, not standing. It was growing out of her. Miraak staggered back, horrified, the song deafening his ears.

“You’re alive?” Fiona gasped, voice sounding raspy and grating. “We saw the rift swallow you both!”

“We’re alive,” Dorian confirmed, glancing back at Miraak, who’d retreated to a lyrium free corner and was visibly shaking. Poor man. For all the supreme power and bravado, red lyrium seemed to badly affect him, more so than a lot of people. But he wasn’t as badly off as poor Fiona. “Fiona, what happened to you? We were only gone a year.”

“The world ended,” Fiona whispered. “Miraak was gone. No one could seal the rifts. The Elder One took over. As for me… if you’re near red lyrium too long, you become this. Then they mine your corpse for more.”

That was… horrifying. More so than expected. Dorian glanced over to where Miraak was huddled in a corner. The mask hid his face but the hunched shoulders, folded arms and resolute staring at the floor told its own story. Miraak was feeling it too.

“We’re going to stop this,” Dorian promised. “I think I can reverse the spell if I can get to Alexius, take Miraak and me back in time. He’ll stop this happening, I promise.”

Miraak did look up sharply, staring into space then at Dorian, and who knew what was going on inside that man’s head, but good heavens, he wasn’t short of ego, was he? Part of him must like the idea of being the only one able to stop the world ending.

“Please,” Fiona gasped. “Please, you have to – Alexius serves the Elder One. More powerful than… than the Maker. No one challenges him and lives!”

“I have not challenged him yet.”

There he was! That was the Miraak Dorian was more familiar with. Much as Dorian had liked the feeling of Miraak in his arms, Miraak being upset was… unpleasant. Both when he was venting his feelings on the cell door… and when he was quietly talking about it, albeit for different reasons. Miraak shouldn’t sound quite that vulnerable and needy. It just didn’t suit him.

“When you say that, I… believe you,” Fiona whispered, closing her eyes. “Listen, your spymaster, Leliana. She’s… here. Find her!”

Dorian promised he would and went to retrieve Miraak… except Miraak was still staring at Fiona.

“I will save the world,” Miraak promised. “You have my word as an Atmoran. Fiona, I can’t save you but I can give you peace. If you wish.”

Fiona nodded and Miraak took a deep breath.

“KRII LUN AUS!”

Fiona sighed, closed her eyes and then collapsed, dead. Dorian could only stare at the dead elf, purple light from the Thu’um still encasing her body, then back to Miraak, who could apparently use the Voice to literally kill someone.

“Did you just…”

“Yes,” Miraak said shortly. “Don’t look like that. You and I have both ended lives.”

“I know, I just… every time I start thinking of you as a man like any other, you go and do something like that and I remember you’re a terrifying demigod,” Dorian said, shivering… but that didn’t stop him taking Miraak by the hand and leading him out.

“Dorian, you’re a mage,” Miraak said wearily. “Don’t tremble in fear at the sight of me as if you’re some Orlesian peasant.”

“I never said I was afraid of you,” Dorian said, tightening his grip. No, that was rather the problem. Dorian wasn’t afraid, he was extremely turned on and he really shouldn’t be. Loving Miraak would be about as safe as loving a High Dragon. He should do the sensible thing and walk away, go back to Tevinter after all this.

And yet Dorian Pavus didn’t let go of Miraak’s hand until the next set of cells.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The next set of cells found Warden Blackwall sitting in his own locked cell, a chest nearby containing the gear he’d had when accompanying Miraak to Redcliffe in the first place. No key of course.

“You know, I bet one of those Venatori guards you shouted off the walkway had keys,” Dorian said, pondering their options. He needn’t have worried. Miraak was kneeling, frost magic at his hands, bonechilling ice cold coating the entire lock, and once he was finished, he took the bars in his hands and wrenched the cell door open, the lock shattering.

“Maker, are the dead coming back to life?” Blackwall whispered, staggering to his feet, his voice with an odd tinge, and while he’d not succumbed to Fiona’s fate, there was red in his eyes. The cursed rock had got to him too.

“We didn’t die,” Miraak told him, patting him on the shoulder. “We just got transported into the future by some manner of rift. Dorian thinks he can reverse it, but it involves finding Alexius.”

“That magister’s not more than a small piece in a bigger machine,” Blackwall said grimly. “The Elder One, he’s the one in charge. I never saw him. No one sees his face or says his name. But he’s the one they worship as a god now.”

Miraak thought of Alduin, similarly regarded by the dragon cult of old. And yet the World-Eater had died at a Dragonborn’s hands.

“Gods can die,” Miraak said, already looking forward to fighting this one. Why should that elf get to be the one with all the glory, the fame of killing the World-Eater. Miraak, Slayer of the Elder One – that was a name that history would remember.

“Miraak, if you can kill him, you’re a bloody hero for that alone,” Blackwall said fervently. “Bastard already had Empress Celene of Orlais assassinated then invaded Orlais in the aftermath with an army of demons before the Council of Heralds even got its boots on.”

“And the Inquisition could do nothing,” Miraak said bitterly, even as it started to occur to him that without him, what could they have done? They couldn’t have sealed rifts or even the Breach without him. And how often had he been in meetings with Cullen, Josephine, Cassandra and Leliana all arguing, and eventually he’d lost patience and forced a decision? Even coming to Redcliffe had been down to Miraak insisting. And when Leliana had found the Council disregarding her concerns about the Wardens, who had she turned to? The man who tended to get his way.

Without him there, he could see everyone getting too mired in indecision to act.

Apparently they truly needed him. Him. The First Dragonborn. Dragon priest, mage, warrior, leader, master of the Thu’um, seeker after forbidden knowledge that nearly consumed him. Saving the world.

_About time the world recognised my greatness._

_Miraak, you destroy everything you touch. Saering died because of you. Vahlok executed your brother and his wife and their three young children and your elderly father by feeding them to the dragons._

Because he’d not been there to protect them. And now his new start had been destroyed because he’d not been there to protect it, and suddenly Miraak was angry. No, not just angry. Furious.

How fucking dare this Elder One do this. 

“Get your gear,” Miraak growled. “Can you fight? Good. We’re finding Alexius, getting his amulet so Dorian can use it to get us home, and we’re killing anything in our way.”

“See, normally I’d object to you being quite that bloodthirsty but in this case it’s justified,” Blackwall said, reaching for his armour. “I’ve got a year’s worth of pent-up frustration to get out of my system, shall we?”

Indeed they should, and once Blackwall was ready to go, it was off to check the other wing where they found Varric, alive but also infected, but delighted to be reunited with Bianca once more and keen to go out fighting.

Back to the main hall it was, and the drawbridge was lowering as they entered… with a patrol of Venatori and their mage leader emerging.

“There! The prisoners are escaping! Get th-”

“FUS RO DAH!”

That send a couple of soldiers flying into the pit, and the rest of them staggering, and then Blackwall stormed in to take his frustrations out on them while Varric took aim with Bianca. Miraak raised a hand and together with Dorian, rained magical destruction until the battle was done. 

“Sounds like they know we’re here,” Varric said wearily. “We can expect more of that.”

“Then we should make haste and strike before the rest realise their friends aren’t coming back,” Miraak said smoothly, making for the stairs, all nerves and vulnerabilities expertly hidden… and Dorian realised they’d not held hands since they’d retrieved Blackwall. Which was a stupid thing to get upset over, ridiculous, he should be feeling happy Miraak had found his confidence again.

But he’d spent over a decade in Tevinter, finding a lover, only to find that lover didn’t want their parents or their friends finding out, or had a fiancee, and that they had to meet in private. Exhilarating at first but he’d got older and was slowly realising he wanted – needed – more. He’d thought Miraak might be offering that, but no. As soon as the others arrived, Miraak had shut off the intimacy. 

It hurt, and the worst thing was, Dorian was most angry at himself for thinking Miraak might be different, that the most fearless man he’d ever met would show none about telling the world who he loved. But no. Miraak was the same as the rest.

Lost in his own disappointment, Dorian followed the others upstairs to the main guard barracks where Varric was opening a locked door and Blackwall was guarding the entrance to the rest of the castle, watching for anyone approaching. Miraak meanwhile was merrily looting the unlocked guard room… at least until he came across someone’s account of what the world was like out there.

“Dorian.”

“Miraak?” Dorian asked, because Miraak’s voice was off. And then without a word Miraak was fucking hugging him again, heedless of the fact Blackwall might turn his head at any moment, and Varric finishing with the lock on the other door.

Actual and literal fucking bastard, how dare he make Dorian want him again.

“I found you a new staff, it’s better than the one you have,” Miraak said, but it was clear this wasn’t the reason for the hug. “Also I found this guard’s diary. Apparently the Fereldan army were defeated trying to retake this place, the Inquisition ground itself to dust on the walls, and it’s just wild demons out there killing anyone who isn’t sleeping in their armour. They killed my Inquisition, Dorian.”

The mask hid a lot, but it couldn’t hide the emotion in Miraak’s voice and Dorian realised he was near tears. Oh Maker, and here he’d been thinking Miraak was ashamed of him. Silently, Dorian took the new staff and swapped it out for the bargain basement staff he’d been forced to pick up after having to sell his old one. Like so many things, it had ended up being sold for more than it was worth to some merchant to fund his trip south. Wasn’t like he could ask his parents for money, was it.

“I will get you home, I promise,” Dorian whispered, resting his head on Miraak’s shoulder. “I’m getting you home, and we stop this from ever coming to pass. We’ll save them, Miraak.”

Miraak’s grip on him tightened, the hard surface of the mask resting against Dorian’s cheek and it occurred to Dorian it would be so much easier if Miraak would ever take the damn thing off. He’d be able to tell what Miraak was feeling, exchange looks, not have to rely on physical touch and body language the whole time. As it was, he was feeling like a fool for ever doubting him… but also still not entirely secure.

“All right, Tentacles, the loot room is open and awaiting your atten- and you’re cuddling Sparkler. Of course you are. Just my luck, I win a bet and Buttercup’s been dead for months so can’t pay me.”

“You knew the Inquisition was gone and didn’t tell me??” Miraak cried, releasing his grip on Dorian. 

“Yeah, the celebrations were audible in the cells,” Varric said bitterly. “I didn’t even know you were that emotionally attached. I mean, you already seemed to know the world had gone to shit, didn’t think you needed to know everyone you cared about had died.”

Again. Miraak shut his eyes, arm round Dorian, fighting back rage and fury and… it wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. He’d barely known these people and already he’d got fond of them. And now he’d failed them again. Just as he’d failed his family. And Saering. And Solstheim as a whole. And now Thedas was a ruin because he’d not been there.

“Not everyone died,” Blackwall said firmly. “We’re still here. The Inquisition isn’t dead as long as there’s someone willing to fight in its name. Maybe there’s only four of us. But we can still give them a fight they won’t forget. It only takes one Warden to kill an Archdemon.”

Or one Dragonborn to kill the World-Eater for that matter.

“Actually, it’s five,” Dorian said, glancing up from where he’d been resting his head on Miraak’s shoulder. “Remember what Fiona said? Leliana is here too. We should find her. She may know something useful.”

She hadn’t been in the main cells. Which meant she was being held elsewhere so either under high security… or they were trying to get information out of her. Gods damn it. They had to find her. Miraak just hoped there was something left of her to find.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Miraak had suspected, the upper levels contained torture chambers, and they finally found Leliana dangling from a frame attached the ceiling, being smacked around by a Venatori torturer.

“Come on, little bird, no point keeping silent!” the torturer snapped. “There’s no one left for you to protect!”

Miraak stood in the doorway, staring at her, seeing his once pretty spymaster haggard, scarred, clearly having been at this for weeks if not months.

“No?” Leliana gasped. “Then who’s that?” 

The torturer turned, and Leliana struck, still apparently strong enough to lift her legs and throttle him with her thighs.

 _That’s my girl._ Miraak grabbed the keys from the corpse and freed her, catching her as she fell into his arms.

“Well done. I’m impressed,” Miraak said, torn between his heart breaking at what they’d done to her, and pride at her still having her strength.

“Anger is stronger than any pain,” was all Leliana said, and Miraak didn’t disagree. Rage was the main thing stopping him curling up into a ball at the moment. That and Dorian. Dorian needed him, so Miraak would remain strong for him. How much of his own strength was coming from Dorian occasionally stopping to touch him and reassure him, Miraak didn’t care to think.

Leliana said little else, merely asking for weapons and gearing up. No surprise. No emotional reaction. No crying. That was probably good? That probably was not good, but Miraak at least was relieved not to have to deal with someone crying all over him.

Dorian however was less emotionally repressed and asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“You aren’t even the least bit curious how we got here??”

“No,” Leliana said, shouldering the bow they’d found her. Still in that same emotionless voice. Dorian carried on talking anyway.

“Alexius sent Miraak and I into the future! We didn’t die! This – the Elder One, Alexius winning, it was never meant to be! And we’re going to put it right, we promise.”

Which was true, but Miraak had the oddest sensation that Leliana truly didn’t care.

“Dorian’s going to reverse the time travel and send us back a year,” Miraak explained. “We can stop this happening. Whatever you went through, it won’t have been in vain.”

“And mages wonder why people fear them,” Leliana said softly, before closing the weapons chest her gear had been in and turning on them both.

“This past year happened. I suffered – the world suffered! The world has been destroyed, there’s nothing left! And you’d just erase all of it, just like that, and think that makes everything all right?? You think this is all some pretence, some dark fantasy you hope will never happen. But it’s not. For us, it is real. You get to go home, and we… we cease to exist entirely. Even if you win.”

Neither Miraak nor Dorian said anything, because really, what could they say? She was right. They weren’t saving this world, they were putting it out of its misery. The only happy ending Leliana, Blackwall or Varric could expect was an end.

“Then you may leave if you wish,” Miraak said softly. “Do what you can with whatever is left to you.”

“And abandon my chance for revenge?” Leliana laughed bitterly. “No. You are after Alexius, yes? Then I am coming with you. He’s in the castle, sealed himself in the throne room. He thinks someone wants to kill him. And he’s right.”

Revenge was as good a motive as any. It had kept him going for long enough, hadn’t it? And so he led them all out. Time to find Alexius.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were doing quite well until they reached the castle courtyard… and the screaming vennesetiid suddenly broke out into an even worse cacophony. 

Miraak fell to his knees, barely aware of Dorian crying his name. At least until Dorian touched his shoulder and something brought him back to himself. Of course, then he heard Varric whispering “Maker, look at the sky!”

Miraak looked and saw only the endless green of Apocrypha, and his heart sank as he realised the freedom he’d delighted in was gone. Mora had won.

“No,” Miraak gasped. “No, I won’t go back. I won’t!”

“Go back where – Maker, you really were trapped in the Fade, weren’t you,” Dorian said, stroking the back of his head before his hand came to rest protectively on the back of Miraak’s neck. “I heard stories, but I didn’t think – I’ve heard of demons trying to escape the Fade but never one taking a mage prisoner before.”

“It is a long story,” Miraak said, unable to bear that sky any longer and staring at the ground. “If we survive this, I promise I will tell it to you. But I would rather die than go back.”

“Look out! Fade rift!” Blackwall cried. “Herald, we need you on your feet!”

Sure enough, one of the lurid green rifts was spitting out demons even as Miraak looked up, and for one fleeting moment, Miraak contemplated lying down and letting the demons get one with it.

 _If you die in this place, Hermaeus Mora can probably claim your soul whenever he feels like it,_ his brain helpfully supplied, and Miraak dragged himself to his feet. Fine. He would fight. He was after all Atmoran. He was fairly certain they weren’t letting him in Sovngarde any time soon, but damned if he was just giving up.

The First Dragonborn’s Thu’um would be the last thing this place heard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Finding Alexius did not get any easier. More rifts, more Venatori and a grand battle in the Great Hall where several of them were trying to contain a rift. Unsuccessfully, and their chances went out entirely when Miraak joined the fray.

Alexius himself had apparently acquired some sort of shard door to seal himself in the throne room. According to the notes they’d found in Alexius’s own handwriting, apparently he feared the Elder One’s wrath for not being able to reverse the mistake at the Conclave. The Breach was what made the theoretical time magic possible, which meant it only operated in the Breach’s own timeline. Meaning it could never undo the mistake at the Temple. Whatever that was. But Alexius was fearful and paranoid and determined to protect Felix at all costs, and so had walled himself in with that door, the keys to which were carried by his elite lieutenants who all had to visit at once.

So off they went in search of said lieutenants, and eventually they’d killed a lot of Venatori, retrieved the keys and got in.

Alexius was waiting for them, staring into the hearth fire with his back turned, not even bothering to put up a fight. He didn’t even react as they walked in.

“Gereon Alexius,” Miraak announced, ready for this. No lyrium in sight, and as he’d walked in, he’d felt the vennesetiid shift. As if his presence was starting to heal time just by itself. “Stand down, and hand the amulet over. This abomination of a timeline is done.”

“So the fabled Herald returns,” Alexius said softly. “Do you know, even after your disappearance, people still sang your name, praying for you to return. Even until the last, they still believed their sainted Miraak would arrive to save the day. My fellow Venatori would laugh at their optimism, but I knew, I always knew, that you’d come back. I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.”

“So it wasn’t even worth it,” Miraak snorted. “You destroyed the world and for what?”

“For my country!” Alexius snapped, a little fire returning. “And my son!” He glanced over to a wooden bench in the corner, and Miraak noticed Felix sitting there in silence, staring at the floor. Odd that he’d not greeted them… and then Miraak sensed it. The unmistakeable skahaan song of the red lyrium, coming from Felix.

Miraak couldn’t look at him. All he could do was return his attention to Alexius.

“But it doesn’t matter now,” Alexius was saying sadly. “None of it matters. All we can do is wait for the end.”

“I am happy to save you the trouble,” Miraak growled, losing patience and drawing his sword. “Give the amulet to Dorian and it will come soon enough. Or I can deliver yours myself. Your choice, magister.”

“All my choices have only led me here,” Alexius said wearily. “All that I fought for, all that I betrayed and what have I wrought? Ruin and death. There is nothing else. The Elder One comes. For you, for me, for us all.”

This was getting them nowhere.

“Dorian, he has gone insane,” Miraak sighed, turning to Dorian. “We’re going to have to put him out of his misery-”

Movement behind him, Dorian looking up and his eyes widening.

“That’s Felix! Maker, Alexius, what have you done?”

Miraak turned to see Leliana with her arm round Felix’s shoulders and a knife to his throat.

“Felix, no!” Alexius cried. “Don’t hurt him! I’ll do anything!”

Felix just gurgled, grey film over his eyes, and it was clear the Blight had claimed him long ago. There was nothing human left in there any more.

“Give me the amulet,” Miraak said, holding out his hand. “Give it to me and Felix lives.”

“Yes, the amulet, here!” Alexius cried, tossing it to Miraak. “Please, just don’t hurt Felix. I’ll do anything you want.”

Miraak caught the amulet and passed it to Dorian, and then he heard Leliana’s voice, cold, hollow, and no human emotion left in it.

“I want the world back.”

Unmistakeable sound of a knife slicing flesh, and Alexius screamed “NO!!!!” Miraak turned to see Felix slump to the floor, bleeding out, not even reacting to having his own throat cut, and he looked up at Leliana to see only grim satisfaction there. She’d wanted revenge. She’d got it… and possibly doomed the world in the process.

_You fucking fool, Leliana. And more fool me for not realising._

Her sickly grin of triumph lasted for seconds before Alexius blasted her off her feet with magic, and Miraak cast his mage armour and shoved Dorian behind a pillar.

“Get to work on that amulet,” he snapped. “I’ll keep him distracted.”

“Right,” Dorian gasped, and Miraak shouted Dragon Aspect into being and went on the attack.

Dragonborn versus magister, and the fight was tougher than Miraak had anticipated, even with Leliana getting to her feet and joining in. And then the Fade rift burst open above them, demons spilling out… and one of them had noticed Dorian.

Miraak was left with little choice. He’d wanted to avoid using Mora’s spells. It might attract attention. But he was out of time, out of place – if all went well, Mora would have difficulty tracking him. If it didn’t, he’d be past caring.

With the Veil in the state it was in, it wasn’t hard at all to summon a couple of Seekers, and one set of demonic Oblivion creatures intercepted the other, the rage demon turning to lash out at the tentacled Seeker and leaving Dorian alone. Leaving Miraak to focus on the others, and eventually the rift.

Alexius, worn down, finally collapsed, down and injured, close to death or possibly just having given up, he wasn’t sure. Miraak approached, drawing his sword, ready to end this once and for all.

“It’s done, Alexius,” Miraak told him. “This ends now.”

“Do it,” Alexius gasped. “It’s a more merciful end than he would have offered.”

Miraak raised his sword and prepared to strike… and then the entire castle shuddered. Miraak had only felt that sensation caused by two things. Earthquakes, and a dragon landing on the temple roof.

Redcliffe wasn’t known for its earthquakes.

“He has a dragon??” Miraak demanded. Of course he fucking did. Well. This Elder One would learn the error of his ways when he faced a Dragonborn.

“There was a reason he won,” Varric said solemnly. Alexius just laughed.

“Of course he won, who could stand against a man who can bend dragons to his will??”

Vahlok. Liriel. Alexius who’d deprived the world of the only other man capable of that without even realising. It was more than possible.

But that just meant that the Elder One had vulnerabilities. Most likely his own fucking ego and believing he was invincible.

Miraak looked forward to proving him wrong already.

“Another man who bends dragons to his will,” Miraak growled, and stabbed downwards, not stopping until he was sure Alexius was dead, and then taking his staff. A gift for Dorian.

Speaking of which…

“Dorian! Are you ready?? The Elder One’s here and I doubt he came alone.”

“Nearly! Sort of! I need another ten minutes! And I need you next to me, when it goes off, it’ll go off quickly, and I’m not leaving you behind!”

“We don’t have ten minutes!” Blackwall cried as the sound of shattered wood came from the hall. “The fuckers are invading!”

“But we’ll buy you what we can,” Varric added. “As long as Bianca’s firing, they’re not getting through.”

Victory or Sovngarde. Except there was no victory for them, and as Andrastians, no Sovngarde either. The Maker took the faithful to his side no matter how they died.

“Krif voth ahkrin,” Miraak heard himself say, knowing in his heart they were dead anyway, Leliana scarred for life and the others dying from within from the lyrium. “Fight well. The gods will honour your deaths.”

All three nodded, Blackwall and Varric running out to the hall, and Leliana nocking an arrow to her bow, ready to be the last line of defence. And Miraak ran to Dorian, hating fleeing from a fight but knowing the world had no chance if he left Dorian’s side now.

“Lokaaliin, do you need any help,” Miraak asked, sensing the way the vennesetiid were moving around the amulet, time actually healing itself around the amulet.

“No, it’s quite all right, I- wait! It’s working! I was having difficulty with the magic, but it’s just started behaving itself! It’s like time wants you to go home!”

Dragon blood healing time just by being there. He supposed he should feel happy about that at least.

Then the doors to the hall burst open, Blackwall and Varric’s bodies being flung in, and the demon horde advanced. Miraak cursed and got up to help Leliana, because he couldn’t just leave her there.

A hand on his arm, and he was on the verge of shaking it off until his lokaaliin’s voice stopped him.

“No, no, no, don’t you dare fucking walk away, Miraak! I’ve nearly got this – yes!”

Green light flared even as two red crystal encrusted things in Templar armour grabbed Leliana, snatching the bow from her arms and raising a knife to her throat. And Miraak could do nothing.

“Unslaad krosis, fahdoni,” he whispered, lump in his throat and meaning every word. “Bormahu ofan drem.”

She wouldn’t understand the words, but Dovahzul was sacred, and sacred occasions deserved sacred words, rotmah.

He felt Dorian draw nearer, his chest to his back, light growing brighter, and then it was all he saw… and then he was falling, and gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reality snapped back with a vengeance, and Miraak fell to the floor, Dorian beneath him with the amulet still clutched in his hands, lying back with his eyes closed and looking…

Breathtakingly beautiful as always and Miraak could think of nothing else until he heard Blackwall’s voice bringing him back to himself.

“Maker’s balls, you’re alive??”

No rasp of red lyrium, and Miraak rolled off Dorian, staggering to his feet, feeling the vennesetiid flowing smoothly now, healthy and well and… pleased? Pleased with him? It was a very nice feeling, but he did have other problems. Such as Magister Alexius still being very much alive.

Helping Dorian up, Miraak turned to face him.

“Is that all?” Miraak purred. “You will have to try harder than that, magister.”

He advanced on Alexius, and to his surprise, Alexius fell to his knees, sorrow all over his face as he realised the game was up. His soldiers, dead. His last-ditch attempt to banish Miraak, failed. Even his own son turned against him.

“You win,” was all Alexus had to say. “There is no point in continuing this charade.”

That had felt too easy, as if venturing through an entire destroyed timeline hadn’t been one traumatic experience after the other. But the vennesetiid were whole again. Time repaired, although the old timeline was gone. But the wuldsetiid was more than capable of adapting, and it was adapting now, flowing freely again and with its own restoration, restoring him too.

_I did it. I… did my job as Dovahkiin._

It was a revelation, because he’d never felt that before. He’d been the first, no one had even known what a Dragonborn was. Even the Tongues had been no help, treating him with suspicion because he found it all too easy. No one had been there to help or guide him, or even explain what a Dovahkiin was. Later dragonlore books had ended up in Apocrypha, but trapped there, they’d felt like a hollow mockery.

But here, now, he understood it at last. He’d been given this gift for a reason. Bormah Akatosh wanted him to help people and fix the world, keep the Veil in place, protect Vus from the forces of Oblivion. And here in Thedas, he finally had a chance to do that.

_Geh, Bormahi. Zu’u fen aak nust._

He could finally live up to his name.

But while he was riding high on adrenaline, Felix was consoling his defeated father.

“It’s going to be all right,” he was telling him. Alexius shook his head, seeming devastated by more than just losing.

“You’ll die!” he cried, voice breaking from grief, and Miraak heard it then, faintly on the breeze as he drew nearer. The song of the Blight in Felix’s veins, skahaan slen and skahaan sos singing in a twisted melody that filled him with nausea.

“Everyone dies,” was all Felix said, seemingly accepting his fate. Miraak remembered the mindless thing Leliana had killed, and realised he could not let it, let any of it, come to pass.

There must be something he could do. Restoration magic wouldn’t cure him, just stave off the inevitable, but maybe the Thu’um? Maybe dragon blood? He didn’t know blood magic, or alchemy for that matter, so adding his blood to a potion was out. But he knew Dovahzul intimately, and had always had a knack for crafting new Shouts. It was all in the breath and the right Rotte-mulaag.

“Felix, may I try something,” Miraak asked, suddenly keen to try this, because now the idea had come to him, he had to know if it worked or not. “The worst that will happen is it will do nothing and give you a headache, but you deserve better than the death the Blight will give you.”

Alexius looked up, hope dawning as he stared up at Miraak, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“After everything that’s happened, you’d try and heal my son? Without… without asking anything?”

“I’m not doing it for you,” Miraak growled. “Felix deserves better, that’s all. Well, Felix?”

Felix nodded and closed his eyes, bracing himself.

Miraak took a deep breath, the words falling into his mind as they always, always did, and within seconds, he knew it, knew the Shout.

“SLEN SKAH VO!”

Alduin’s Shout reworked to target the Blight, not time. It might not even work on a joor, and using Slen Tiid Vo on a joor skeleton likely wouldn’t. But the Blight was unnatural, a cursed thing, and a body not too far gone might well be able to be cleansed.

Golden light hit Felix, who staggered back, collapsing to his knees, and Alexius moved to hold him, crying his name even as Dorian ran over to check on him. The light enveloped him, glowed brightly, so brightly Felix’s eyes were nothing but pools of brilliant gold… and then it was gone, sinking into his flesh, his very veins burning gold… and then there was nothing. Just Felix closing his eyes and passing out.

But his breathing already sounded easier, his skin looked far less pale and the song was gone. His blood wasn’t singing at Miraak any more.

“Felix!” Alexius was crying. “Felix, talk to me! Please.”

Dorian was shaking him too, and Felix opened his eyes, barely reacting as Dorian and Alexius helped him sit up.

“Felix,” Dorian said sharply. “Felix, are you all right. Talk to me!”

“Yes,” Felix said faintly. “Yes, it… what was that, it felt like I’d just been punched by the Maker.”

Not actually a bad comparison.

“Krosis,” Miraak said, feeling a little bit bad about that. “There are few ways to make a Shout gentler.”

“No,” Felix whispered. “What was… ugghh. I – wait. Dorian, it’s gone. The Blight. I can’t feel it!”

“Nor will you,” Miraak said, inwardly rejoicing at that having worked. “Pruzah ven, Felix. Fair winds to you. You have your life back. Make it count.”

“What…” Felix whispered, mind still wrapping itself around the fact he wasn’t going to die after all, and Alexius promptly burst into tears, crying his son’s name and pulling him into his arms. And Dorian got to his feet, staring at Miraak with an awe in his eyes Miraak really had never expected to see on his face.

“Maker, Miraak, did you just shout the Blight out of someone? What… how… why??”

“Thu’um lost mulaag, Dorian,” Miraak said, starting to worry. Dorian looked like he might be about to cry. “The Thu’um has power. As for why… I know you care about him. Also to prove a point to his father that someone acting in good faith who could have healed his son would have done so up front.” 

Dorian dropped his eyes, wiping at one of them, still not happy.

“Maker, Miraak, how do I even begin to repay you?” Dorian gasped, and Miraak flinched to hear it. Aaz se Mara, you didn’t repay courtship gifts with anything but love!

Maybe love wasn’t there yet. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t grow in time.

“You saved my life, took care of me in that tolaakaan future and got me home,” Miraak said, stepping forward and holding out his arms. “It’s the least I can do.”

Dorian went straight into his arms, head against his chest, and Miraak held him close, turning his head so his cheek rested against Dorian’s head, his heart feeling at peace for the first time in a long time as he felt Dorian in his arms.

“Maker, I hate you,” he heard Dorian say, somewhat petulantly. “How dare you make me cry in public.”

“Should I stop hugging you then,” Miraak said, amused because he sensed no hatred in Dorian’s voice or body. Quite the reverse.

“Don’t you dare. You utter bastard.”

“Fariik bronshullahiik,” Miraak murmured, doing his best to translate Tevinter into Dovahzul on the fly. Mages of the Northern Sun. That’d do. Yes, he was going to enjoy making up Dovahzul compliments for his pretty mage.

“I’m going to learn your language, and then you will regret it,” Dorian muttered, but he didn’t stir and they could have stayed like that for hours had the Great Hall door not swung open.

Sound of heavy armour and many marching feet, and Miraak let Dorian go and moved to shield him from whoever this was.

It was a lot of soldiers marching in and forming two protective cordons up the hall and the cordons were clearly protecting the blonde woman in rather more ornate armour with a crown on her head.

Ah. Ferelden’s ruler was Queen Anora, wasn’t it? This must be her.

“Drem Yol Lok, greetings,” Miraak said, stepping forward and hoping to Akatosh she recognised the mask. “Do I have the honour of addressing Queen Anora of Ferelden?”

“We’re a little beyond pleasantries,” Anora snapped. “Arl Teagan tells me the mage rebels threw in their lot with Tevinter and ousted him from his own holdings! I want an explanation.”

Her eyes scanned the room and fell on Grand Enchanter Fiona.

“Grand Enchanter. When I offered you sanctuary, it was on the understanding you would NOT force my people from their homes!”

“Your Majesty, I can only apologise…” Fiona began, but Anora cut her off.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” Anora snapped. “Where in Andraste’s name is this magister?”

Miraak stepped aside and indicated Alexius, who showed no signs of putting up a fight.

“There he is,” Miraak told her. “May I add the other two Tevinter gentlemen are entirely innocent of any wrongdoing, in fact they were the ones to alert me to the problem. But the magister there was until recently a member of a cult of Tevinter supremacists intending to bring back the Imperium of old. He is guilty of the entire operation… but I believe he is remorseful.”

“Remorseful or not, he’s still standing trial,” Anora snapped. “Guards, take him away.”

Alexius put up no resistance as two of her soldiers stepped forward with shackles and hauled him out. Miraak almost felt sorry for him.

 _You should have surrendered to me in the first place, I could have had you out of here before she got here if you had._ But it was too late for regrets now.

“As for you,” Anora snapped, turning to Fiona. “If this is what I can expect from you, the offer of sanctuary is rescinded. I want you out of Ferelden by month’s end.”

“But where will we go? We have elders! Children!” Fiona cried, as if the prospect of suddenly having to find a home for several hundred mages at short notice had never occurred to her. Stuhn ofan aaz. 

“Perhaps you should have thought of that _before_ you sided with a Tevinter magister!!” Anora snapped, about done. “Ugh. You. With the mask. I see Inquisition soldiers which must mean you’re their Herald. You people claim to be the only ones who can fix the world. What would you do with them?”

What indeed. Miraak stepped forward, folding his arms.

“We did come here to ask for your help in sealing the Breach. Except now the negotiations appear to have swung in my favour. You need somewhere to live because your only other option is winter in the wilderness. I could use your help with the Breach but I could find other options if I had to. As I said to Seeker Cassandra once, onikaan koraav gein miraad. It is wise to recognise when you have only one choice.”

Fiona looked like she liked none of this… but she wasn’t a fool, it turned out.

“It seems we have little choice but to accept,” Fiona said wearily. “What are the terms of this arrangement?”

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave them. The Inquisition is better than that, yes?” Dorian asked.

Yes of course it was. Damn it. Then Blackwall added that no one fought well for their captors, and Varric putting in that they could be good friends if you let them. Friends that made bad decisions, but still, friends.

Miraak was loathe to just grant them freedom after this, but perhaps he didn’t need to order them to his service either.

“You are on probation,” Miraak growled. “Serve me well and seal the Breach, and I will consider supporting mage freedom. I can ensure your own accommodations will be free from direct Templar supervision but you will be watched in Haven itself. Any abominations among your people, I expect you to deal with the problem before I’m forced to. Any blood sacrifices or attempts to break the Veil and the offenders will be answering to me.”

“Understood,” Fiona said, bowing her head. “Those are… better terms than I expected. Thank you, Your Worship.”

“Good,” Miraak growled. “Don’t disappoint me.”

They better fucking not, was all he could think. As it was, Dorian, while not exactly happy, didn’t seem angry either, just resigned.

“Whatever,” Anora sniffed. “Just get them out of here. They’re your problem now, Herald.”

Anora indicated to her soldiers to follow her, and after she’d gone, Fiona left to prepare the mages for the journey to Haven.

Leaving Miraak to check in on Dorian. It occurred to him that with this all resolved, Dorian had no real reason to stay. He could go back to Tevinter if he liked.

Miraak liked this outcome not at all.

Dorian was helping Felix up, arm round him and looking sadly at him. Felix didn’t even look angry, or even tearful. Just resigned.

“Thank you, Herald,” Felix said as he approached. “For not executing him. I mean, Anora might but… he has a chance and that’s all we can ever hope for.”

“It is no trouble,” Miraak said, hoping Felix at least found peace. He deserved it. “What will you both do now? Felix is no longer dying. And Dorian… you stopped Alexius. You don’t have to stay now that’s done.”

“I know, but… I’ve never really been out of Tevinter before! Not this far south anyway. It’s so charming and rustic! I love it to teeny tiny little pieces.”

Mara, did this man take anything seriously. It was as if the moment a vulnerability was revealed, he instantly had to conceal it behind some frivolous comment to hide it before anyone noticed. Too bad Miraak noticed these things in his beloved.

“Does that mean you’re staying?” Miraak asked wearily. It had been a long day, he was tired to put it mildly and just wanted to know if the man of his dreams was intending to stick around or not. Was that too much to ask?

Dorian tilted his head, bright smile fading.

“If I decided to go to Haven after all this, would I be welcome as a permanent Inquisition member?” Dorian asked. Well of course he would, why would he ever doubt that?

“Yes of course,” Miraak said, surprised he had to spell it out. “I would be happy to welcome you on board.”

And to his eternal delight, Dorian smiled, that genuine, happy smile that melted Miraak’s heart every time.

“I need to see to Felix and check what his plans are,” Dorian told him, giving Felix a one-armed hug. “Not that he needs a caretaker by any means but I’m not sure he should be alone right now. That might take a few days. But once we’ve had a chance to talk and settle things… you might see me in Haven yet.”

Miraak’s own face lit up in a smile before he could stop himself, and had he not been wearing the mask, Dorian’s own feelings might have taken a great leap forward right there. But his face remained hidden, and so Dorian remained as he was – intrigued, curious and definitely hungry for more… but not committed. Not yet.

It didn’t matter. For now, it was enough. Mission accomplished and Dorian might not be disappearing out of his life just yet. All was well in Miraak’s world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul lexicon:
> 
> Golmirodah - singing stone, lyrium
> 
> Skahaan - tainted
> 
> Lokaaliin - beloved
> 
> Unslaad krosis, fahdoni - unending apologies, my friend
> 
> Bormahu ofan drem - Our Father give (you) peace
> 
> Aaz se Mara - Mara's mercy
> 
> Stuhn ofan aaz - Stendarr have mercy
> 
> Zu'u fen aak nust - I will guide them.
> 
> Bronshullahiik - Tevinter, mage of the Northern Sun.
> 
> Fariik - precious. Fariiki is the possessive form, and looks set to be Miraak's pet name for Dorian. Literally 'my precious' which has definite ramifications of Miraak regarding his lover as a part of his hoard, and the likely reaction if someone tries to get between them.
> 
> I had to save Felix somehow. And, well, Miraak's a prodigy at Shout creation, and does speak Dovahzul. It fits. Next chapter is all back to Haven for the debrief... and a certain mage deciding he owes it to the world and himself to at least give this Inquisition a thing a shot.


	7. Unmasked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Haven, and predictably, the Inquisition Inner Council is as divided by Miraak's actions as it is everything else. But all Miraak's attention focuses on one single point as Dorian Pavus decides to commit to the Inquisition... but his willingness to commit to anything else depends on Miraak's willingness to show a little more vulnerability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is time to get the ship under way! Did you have a problem with the main ship? This is not the chapter or indeed the fic, or indeed the author, for you. 
> 
> Everyone else, the romance starts here! The boys go on a date, and it turns out two of the advisors are shippers.
> 
> There's no smut, but there's mentions of sexual stuff. Principally sex toys. Not in the way you think either! But mostly this is fluffy romance.

Predictably, the debrief did not go well.

“What were you thinking??” Cullen thundered at him. “Letting the mages loose with no supervision? I knew Cassandra should have gone with you.”

“I don’t need Cassandra’s supervision!” Miraak snapped back, in no mood to be talked to like that. “You wanted the mage rebellion’s assistance and Redcliffe liberated. Both of those have been achieved. If you don’t trust my judgement, Cullen, don’t send me on missions.”

“I never wanted the mage rebellion’s assistance!” Cullen snapped. “Maker’s Breath, Miraak, there’ll be abominations among those mages. If there’s a disaster, it’ll be on your head!”

Miraak’s patience had been wearing thin to begin with, and he’d never liked being questioned. The First Dragonborn’s temper finally snapped.

“Listen to me, you jumped-up _volahzey vothur,_ I was sent into the future, I saw what happens if we fail!” Miraak snarled, advancing on Cullen, and it took all Cassandra’s strength to hold him back. “The Veil is destroyed, demons roam freely, _everyone in this room is dead._ There is no Inquisition, the Elder One slaughtered you all! And the only difference is that I was not there, so do NOT sit there tearing down my judgement, because one of those decisions might be the one that saves your life!!”

Silence, and Miraak registered Josephine staring at him in horror, Leliana with eyes wide, and Cullen… Cullen had actually raised a hand to protect himself and was now staring back at Miraak as if Miraak might not be a lot better than the Elder One.

_I am trying to save the world, why can’t they see that??_

Saering in court, listening to him pass judgement, more and more often intervening to get harsh sentences lightened, more and more often arguing in private, and one day telling him he couldn’t do this any more, he was leaving for Greta’s court in Windhelm, going to be her housecarl. Because the man he loved was turning into a monster and he couldn’t watch any more.

Miraak stepped back, lowering his hand, not sure what was going on but knowing one thing. Their deaths had grieved him. The loss of the Inquisition had felt like a personal blow. He cared about this place, these people. He didn’t want his time here ending like his marriage had.

“Krosis,” Miraak said softly. “My apologies. I should not have called you a… perhaps I will not translate it. But I stand by my opinions. And my decision.”

“As well he should,” and that was Cassandra. Wait. Cassandra?? She’d supported the Circle system! Miraak turned to her in surprise, as did the others.

“You can’t possibly agree with this,” Cullen whispered and Cassandra shook her head.

“I don’t. But I do support it. A decision needed to be made and Miraak made one. We cannot afford to keep second-guessing and undermining our people. We have the aid of the mages. That is what matters.”

“Also if we rescind our offer of sanctuary, it makes the Inquisition look incompetent at best and tyrannical at worst,” Josephine added and Miraak’s heart lightened. Someone else was taking his side! And she didn’t seem scared of him either. He’d later learn she saw far worse from Orlais’ nobles on a regular basis, and had mostly been worried for Cullen, but for now it was enough to know she didn’t hate him.

“Tyrannical! He’ll manage that on his own,” Cullen snorted. But then he sighed, and lowered his shoulders. “I suppose we’re stuck with them. I’ll get some tents put up on the other side of the lake, if there’s any magical accidents all they’ll harm is themselves. I suppose it’s enough they know we do have Templars over here. And a Dragonborn.”

“A Dragonborn who will be very disappointed if his faith in them turns out to be misplaced,” Leliana said, sly grin on her face. “They know what the consequences of displeasing you are.”

Miraak chuckled at that, reaching out to pat Leliana affectionately on the shoulder. He really did like his spymaster.

_Scarred face, drawn features, reduced to hate and anger as she slices Felix’s throat._

Miraak shivered and withdrew his hand. He would change things. Leliana wouldn’t end up like that. He would make sure of it.

The meeting broke up, and this time it was Josephine calling him into her office for a word. 

“What is it,” he asked, surprised. “Did you need something from me?”

“No, no,” Josephine said, indicating for him to take a seat. “I had a question. We have had a letter from the clerics in Val Royeaux. They wish to know if the Inquisition officially endorses the claim that you are Andraste’s Herald. I wanted to know what you think we should tell them. You are, after all, the one most obviously affected by our answer.”

“And what are you planning on telling them – you don’t know, do you?” Miraak said, amused and already able to imagine the Council’s responses. Cullen saying it was ridiculous, Leliana wanting to endorse it, Josephine no doubt wanting to praise him as someone who could lead them through this great crisis without actually answering the question, and Cassandra… who knew. Probably losing patience with the whole issue and insisting they look at the bigger picture.

“It is hard to give a response to a question when Leliana, Cullen, Cassandra and I all wish to give four different answers,” Josephine sighed. That was a yes then. No wonder the Inquisition had faltered without him in that Dark Future.

Claim the title, obviously.

No. Don’t be ridiculous. Claiming power was all well and good, but Andraste never handed him out of the Fade. He couldn’t endorse a thing when he knew full well it wasn’t true.

Telling people it wasn’t true officially might kill his cause entirely.

“Don’t deny it, but don’t endorse it either,” Miraak decided. “Just tell them… oh, you’re a diplomat, you’re good at this already. Tell them I’m here by the grace of the Maker, as are we all. And that I will lead them to victory over the Elder One. Tell them they’ll know if Andraste guides me by how this all turns out.”

Josephine nodded, taking a few notes, impressed.

“The clerics might think we’re avoiding the question,” she warned him. “And it places much pressure on your shoulders to live up to the title.”

“We are avoiding the question and the pressure is already there,” Miraak said wearily, trying not to think of red lyrium ringing in his ears, the Breach covering the sky and time itself howling at him. 

Josephine’s quill paused, hovering over the page.

“True enough, my lord,” she said sombrely. “I will put something together. With any luck, it will please the others too. Truly, it is good to have you back. While I’d prefer it if you didn’t assault the Commander, too many of our meetings go nowhere without you. You’ve got a way of getting to the essentials and making your case. Wherever you came from, whoever sent you… we need you, my lord.”

Miraak could feel himself blushing under the mask, glad she couldn’t see this. He wasn’t used to compliments being given voluntarily and sincerely. And Josephine, diplomatic as she was, wouldn’t say a thing like that if she didn’t mean it.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low and sombre. “I didn’t go too far in that meeting, did I?”

“A little,” Josephine admitted. “But in all honesty, I have seen far worse from the nobility. And you did apologise. That speaks well of you, my lord.”

Miraak recalled the unfortunate Marquis at Vivienne’s salon and could believe this. Feeling better about how things had gone, he took his leave and headed out into the Chantry.

He’d not gone far when he saw the figure standing in the door way, staring at him. Only silhouetted but Miraak would know him anywhere.

Mate. Fenahmul. Beloved. Lokaaliin. Dorian. He’d come. He’d come to Haven.

Saying nothing, Miraak approached because sometimes words just spoiled the moment. Sometimes there were no words.

There were no words to make someone love you, but Dorian had come anyway. And maybe love wasn’t there yet but Dorian Pavus was looking more hesitant than usual. Nervous, somehow.

Did Miraak make him nervous? Miraak rather liked that idea.

But despite his nerves, Dorian stepped forward, and then he smiled and Miraak momentarily forgot the rest of the world existed.

“Hello!” Dorian said cheerfully. “I made it! Haven is so charming and picturesque, I felt I had to come back. Also the company is a delight. Why, your commander only rolled his eyes and tutted at me once! And then he told me my old room had been kept open and you were in here. And that I should see Josephine to sign the recruitment papers and get on the payroll. Can you imagine? Me, a scion of House Pavus of Tevinter, drawing a salary like a common worker! Wonders will never cease.”

“Payro- you’re getting paid?? I’m not getting paid!” Miraak snapped. “I just get a finder’s fee on all the loot we find.”

“Yes, and you were systematically looting the Dark Future for all it was worth, so I imagine this is considerable. Also I hear you got given some Avvar and Qunari gear from somewhere. You have a cabin all to yourself and they feed you for free, you do well enough, I think.”

“Others have to pay for their food?” Miraak asked, surprised. Inquisition finances had been a mystery to him. He’d just taken it for granted things just appeared. 

Dorian stopped and just stared at him, shaking his head.

“Oh, you poor sheltered thing,” he sighed. “I was like you once. Meals just were served. Rooms just kept themselves clean. Money? What was that? The luxuries of life just appeared. And then I came of age, parental expectations sharpened and when I failed to meet them, the lap of luxury kicked me out of it. And I have had to worry about money ever since.”

_But… Dorian isn’t rich? His family are wealthy…_

His family, yes. Dorian, no, and Miraak saw worn, travel-stained gear, personal possessions that could fit in a rucksack, and Dorian’s original staff had been some cheap, wooden thing. It dawned on Miraak that Dorian was cut off from his family and without them sending him money, was dirt poor.

Some distant part of him began to realise lots of people lived like that daily, and that if he’d not turned out to be a Dragonborn mage, it might have been his lot as well. But Miraak wasn’t introspective enough to dwell on that for long. No, it was far more critically important that his beloved had no money of his own. 

Miraak would have to provide for him. There was no help for it. Miraak didn’t mind. Whatever was his was Dorian’s.

“You are here now,” Miraak said gently, closing the distance and stroking Dorian’s cheek. “Niid faas, fariiki. Do not fear. I will take care of you.”

To his surprise, Dorian didn’t fall into his arms with gratitude, in fact he’d placed a hand to Miraak’s wrist and carefully pulled it away.

“Go to no undue trouble on my account,” Dorian said firmly. “Standard Inquisition terms and conditions will do fine for me. Miraak, we have had this conversation before. Please don’t fuss, I will be quite all right.”

“You told me off for being too trusting of a man I only just met,” Miraak said, the brush-off stinging still. “Fariiki, we travelled through time together. You kept me whole when that Deyra-world was clawing at me. You protected me. You cared for me. And you brought me home. Don’t act like all that meant nothing. I placed my trust in you completely and you repaid it in full – more than full. I call you fariiki because you’ve become precious to me. Don’t tell me you don’t feel anything for me.”

Sadness on Dorian’s face, and while it was better than indifference or contempt, it still hurt. Just let me love you, dammit!

“This is literally our third meeting, Miraak, don’t act like I don’t care because I’m not ready for a commitment!” Dorian sighed. “Maker, Miraak, I still don’t even know what you look like under there!”

Miraak stopped because he didn’t, did he? He’d never even seen Miraak’s real face. Saering had been the same, all awkward bluster and resistance… until Miraak had swapped out the mask and robes for an ordinary soldier’s armour and chatted up Saering as if he’d never met him before, and that was when Saering had finally let down his own walls, seeing an attractive man and more than happy to share drinks… and other things. It had gone quite well until some idiot had tried to start a fight, Miraak had hit back, and the Temple Guard had arrested them all. That was when they’d realised the Dragon Priest was missing, and it had been his steward who’d put two and two together and gone to the cells. The arresting guard sergeant’s face was something Miraak had never forgotten… and nor had he forgotten Saering’s face as he’d realised his handsome drinking buddy and the intimidating Dragon Priest were the same person. The mix of awe and terror in the man’s eyes… had pleased him at the time, but now it just rang hollow.

At some point, he was definitely going to unmask and derobe and just walk around Haven and see what it was like not being the Herald for a bit. But not for Dorian. No, Dorian deserved better. Dorian would not just see him unmasked. Miraak would unmask for him. And for now, only him.

“I take it off to eat,” Miraak said, hoping Dorian would pick up on this. Also to sleep, but Miraak wasn’t _that_ direct. Dorian was being skittish enough as it was. Let the move to bed be initiated by him. 

“What has that got to-” Dorian fell silent, eyes widening as he guessed what Miraak had in mind. “Wait. Are you asking me on a date??”

“Yes,” Miraak said, just in case Dorian had failed to pick up the hints. “Dorian Pavus, would you do me the honour of joining me for dinner, wine and tinvaak tonight? That’s conversation. It’s not anything else. Nothing physical need happen between us. Unless you are overcome with lust and cannot stop yourself, of course. If that happened… I would understand.”

Dorian actually gasped, and Miraak could have cheered in triumph. He’d done it. He’d got to him. Dorian Pavus was, for once, speechless.

“You are – you’re insufferable, you know that,” Dorian said, shaking his head. And then he smiled once more, eyes lighting up and Miraak felt his throat dry up.

“I’ll be there at sunset,” Dorian said, trailing fingers along Miraak’s arm. “Do you know, I’m rather looking forward to it. The real face of the Herald of Andraste? Yes please!”

Dorian glanced over his shoulder, still grinning, had the nerve to fucking wink at him as he passed by then took his leave, and Miraak could swear he was wiggling his backside on purpose as he walked towards Josephine’s office.

That man was going to be the death of him. Miraak couldn’t wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun hit the horizon, night fell over Haven, and Miraak shuttered his cabin window, stoked up the fire, carefully positioned the second chair near his table, set out two goblets and a bottle of fine Antivan wine which Josephine had personally given him as soon as she’d found out he was having Dorian over for dinner.

“You don’t need to-” Miraak had begun but she’d shushed him and practically forced the bottle into his hands.

“As Herald of Andraste, your happiness and wellbeing are essential to Inquisition morale. _Essential,_ Your Worship,” she’d said firmly. “I will ensure suitable refreshments are provided for you both. Now go. Take the wine. I have arrangements to make.”

He’d seen Leliana looking knowingly at him as he’d left the Chantry, and then she’d made her way into Josephine’s office and if those two hadn’t been gossiping about him, he’d be very surprised. Never mind. Let them have their entertainment. He had a guest to await.

So here he was, sitting down at the desk, mask off, having gone to the trouble of letting his hair down and brushing it out, before just tying the forelocks back out of his eyes and letting the rest flow loose about his shoulders. Thank Akatosh he’d bathed that morning. He’d also shaved so hard he’d actually given himself razor-burn – Restoration magic had thankfully sorted him out.

And still he worried. This was a bad idea. He should tell Dorian he’d changed his mind. Or put the mask back on at least. By the gods, he felt naked without it. Vulnerable. It wasn’t just not having the magicka boost. It was subtler than that. When they saw the mask, they saw the Dovahkiin, the Dragon Priest. Their Herald.

Without it, he was just another warrior-mage. Until he spoke anyway.

And now he was going to willingly go before his beloved, his lokaaliin, as Not The Herald. If Dorian still wanted him after this… if he wanted him in the first place. Miraak still wasn’t sure.

A knock on the door and Miraak’s breath caught in his throat. It was him. Had to be.

“Who is it?” Miraak called, knowing who it was. And of course he was right.

“Only me, Miraak,” Dorian’s voice called, muffled behind the door. “May I come in? It’s really rather nippy out here once the sun goes down.”

Miraak hadn’t heard that level of plaintiveness in his voice before, and he cursed as he remembered the poor man probably only had the one set of clothes. Mara, he had to get Dorian some winter gear. But first, get him in out of the cold.

A simple telekinesis spell and the door unlatched and swung open, and Miraak got to his feet.

“Come in, you must be freezing,” Miraak gasped as Dorian staggered in and shut the door behind him, shaking himself off as he realised how warm the cabin was.

“Maker, that’s better,” Dorian gasped, still hugging himself. “Honestly, whose idea was it to build a sacred Andrastian site right up in the mountains. Nothing says close to the Maker like frostbite. Seriously Miraak, just be grateful you’re attrac… tive.”

Dorian had looked up, seen Miraak standing there with the mask off and promptly lost track of what he was saying. His eyes had widened, his mouth still open and his gaze raked over Miraak’s face as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Miraak?” Dorian finally said. As if there were any doubt. Miraak nodded, waiting for Dorian to come closer. He did so, still staring, reaching out to touch Miraak’s face, fingertips tracing Miraak’s cheek.

Miraak couldn’t stop the gasp escaping his throat at the touch of Dorian’s fingers. Millennia – _millennia_ – of no one touching him, no human even seeing him, let alone _touching his face_ – and suddenly Dorian was here, touching him, staring at him with that look in his eyes, adoration, fascination… something else Miraak couldn’t identify. But he knew what he was feeling and couldn’t help but respond. 

Moaning softly, he closed his eyes, leaning into his touch, reaching for Dorian’s hand and lifting it to his lips, kissing the back of his hand before holding it to his chest. 

He could finally do this. Simple things, the most delicate of touches, and he could finally, finally lavish them on Dorian like he deserved.

Dorian had closed his eyes, gasping for breath, and if he looked like that in bed… Mara, Dibella, Kyne, Miraak was never letting him go.

“Do you like what you see,” Miraak murmured. Dorian opened his eyes and nodded, out of breath and lost for words, and Miraak felt his nerves melt away. Dorian wanted him too. Dorian was his. Maybe they’d not exchanged words of affection. Maybe there was much to learn about each other still. Maybe they’d never been near a bed yet. But there was an agreement now. Dorian wasn’t resisting any more.

“Shall we sit down,” Miraak said, smiling as he led Dorian into his main cabin room and indicated for him to take a seat. Dorian did so without a word, saying nothing as Miraak sat opposite and poured the wine.

Gods, it was good wine. Josephine had done well to get this stuff out here. He’d definitely thank her in the morning. But right now, his attention was on Dorian, who was also looking impressed and reading the bottle label.

“Where in the world did you get a 5:68 Antivan Black? These are worth a fortune!”

“They are?” Miraak asked, surprised. “I had no idea. Josephine gave it to me. Apparently the health and happiness of the Herald is key to Inquisition operations. I am not contradicting her.”

“She just gave you a bottle of expensive Antivan wine?? Maker, she probably brought this with her from Antiva, it’s probably an heirloom! And she just gave it to you??”

“I told her you were coming for dinner and she insisted,” Miraak admitted. “I don’t know what she was thinking.”

“Oh, I’m getting a fair idea!” Dorian laughed, that delightful smile on his face again. “Dear Maker, that woman is playing matchmaker!”

Miraak glanced at the wine and realised yes, she probably was, wasn’t she? He _really_ needed to thank her.

“Shall we drink a toast?” Miraak asked, glancing up at him. “To matchmaking friends.”

“To saving the world one drink at a time,” Dorian said, grinning as he raised his goblet to Miraak’s. “Salutae!”

“Kul Haas!” Miraak laughed, meeting Dorian’s presumably Tevinter toast with a Dovahzul one. Dragons didn’t drink, of course… but the Atmorans who worshipped them did.

They both drank and Miraak sat back in his chair, wondering what he’d been anxious about. Here he was, sitting here with his beautiful almost-lover, not a care in the world. So it was that Dorian’s next words actually wounded him.

“You know, I am so unbelievably cross with you right now.”

That got Miraak’s attention.

“What?” Miraak cried. “What did I do? I invite you into my strunmah, provide warmth, give you wine, have food on the way, and you’re cross with me??”

“Yes!” Dorian cried, gesturing at him. “Extremely. I can’t believe you kept this from me! From everyone! That face! Those eyes! _That hair!_ Maker, Miraak, I could spend hours just running my fingers through the hair alone! You’re a natural blonde and you never told me? Do you know how many natural blondes we have in Tevinter?? None. NONE. That translucent pale skin’s not common either. I mean, it is round here, you people are everywhere down south. But in Tevinter? If I take you back to Minrathous, I will have the entire Magisterium swarming for your attention, in fact I’m going to have to spend half my time fighting them off you. Good lord, Miraak, you’re _beautiful._ ”

One word and Miraak was undone. Lowering his wine and placing it on the table, Miraak stared at Dorian, head full of fantasies of Dorian running fingers through his hair, and Miraak wanted nothing more than for Dorian to do just that, in fact it was all he could do not to drop to his knees so Dorian could do it with less effort on his part.

He’d never really thought of himself as beautiful before. He was a terrifying dragon priest, a master of the Thu’um. Wasn’t that what people wanted? Needed? Wasn’t that strength what was going to save the world? Wasn’t the vulnerability something to be kept hidden?

Apparently not, because Dorian had taken one look, and the previously flirty but at the same time uncommitted man Miraak had been trying to pin down had changed his tune completely.

He was still staring hungrily at Miraak but he was starting to smile.

“Your facial expressions are a delight, you’re not hiding _anything!_ ” Dorian laughed. “Wait. That’s why the mask, isn’t it? You can’t control your facial expressions at all! Ha! Oh, Miraak, Miraak, Miraak. This is going to be _fun!_ ”

“What?” Miraak managed to get out, and he did not remotely sound like a commanding and terrifying Dragonborn. What had he said earlier? If Dorian was overcome with lust and couldn’t stop himself from pouncing, he’d understand? It was happening. And it was nothing like the fiercely joyful fantasy of Dorian pinning him to the bed. No. This was Dorian as predator, moving in to claim what was his, Dorian Pavus deciding a goddamn Dragonborn was going to be his plaything and like it.

And the shameful thing was, Miraak did. Dorian was already reaching a hand to his face, fingertips brushing Miraak’s cheek, still that terrifyingly sexy smile on his face.

“You are _blushing!_ ” Dorian whispered. “You, my dear, are a gift that very much keeps on giving.”

Miraak needed to stop this. Stop all this, regain control of the situation somehow, show Dorian who was in charge here.

“No,” was all that came out, a little breathless gasp as real fear hit him, real fear of Dorian hurting him, forcing him, taking advantage, too soon, too _much!_

And Dorian stopped, predatory look gone in seconds.

“I’m so sorry,” Dorian gasped, reaching for his wine. “I don’t know what came over me. Are you all right?”

Really, honestly? No. Too much, all at once. It wasn’t even that he was averse to Dorian being on top but… right there, right then, it had triggered fight or flight instincts and Miraak couldn’t fight Dorian.

Miraak shook his head, turning away, staring at his hands, wondering what the fuck was wrong with him and why this had all gone so wrong so fast. And then Dorian placed a hand on his, squeezing it, fingers entwining with his.

“I would never hurt you, Miraak,” Dorian said softly. “Never. Please believe me, despite everything, I do care. I know I go too far sometimes. Don’t take things seriously when perhaps I should. But you’re important to me. To the world! We both saw what happened when you weren’t there to help. The world needs you. And it needs you sane and it needs you strong and it needs you happy and taken care of. I would never do anything to jeopardise that, old chap. My own needs and desires pale in comparison. Your safety and happiness takes priority. You know that, don’t you? I’m happy to back off if you need me to.”

Little sob escaping Miraak’s throat, because he didn’t want Dorian backing off! He just wasn’t sure how he felt about being prey.

“Don’t go,” Miraak murmured, holding Dorian’s hand so he couldn’t just leave. “I’m sorry too. I do want you here, just… ni tiid. We can just get to know each other and enjoy each other’s company for now, yes?”

Dorian raised Miraak’s hand to his, kissed his fingers and then laid it down, patting the back of Miraak’s hand and letting him go.

“Yes of course,” Dorian said, the usual cocky smile replaced with something altogether gentler and a damn sight more caring. “You know, I’m not used to all this. Wine, candles, romance, slow and gentle courtship. That’s the sort of thing Tevinter men do for women, not other men. Not that I am complaining! Heavens, no. I’m actually rather enjoying it. The Herald of Andraste is an old-fashioned romantic under the mask. Who knew?”

Miraak certainly hadn’t, but the idea of lavishing attention and affection on Dorian that his home culture had clearly deprived him of was one Miraak could absolutely get behind.

“You deserve it,” Miraak purred, able to put his own emotions behind him, retreating into the banter of before now that Dorian had retreated into his usual witty self and was no longer moving in to claim him.

That idea sent shivers down Miraak’s spine still. But not yet. Not here. Not now. Tinvaak first. Lots of tinvaak. And not tonight. He’d taken the goddamn mask off, wasn’t that intimacy enough??

Dorian was looking away, blushing himself now.

“I’m not sure I do, but I’m not turning it down,” Dorian said softly, taking another sip of his wine. “An imposing, charismatic and powerful man, showing interest in me? Yes please. Then he turns out to possess sensitivity and intelligence as well? Too good to be true. And then he takes his mask off, literally and metaphorically and turns out to have this whole emotional vulnerability thing going on that makes me want to just wrap him up in a big thick blanket and take care of him?? This is impossible. This sort of thing simply does not happen. Not to me it doesn’t! And then he turns out to not want to fling me to the bed and ruthlessly conquer me, but wants to wine and dine me? Hold my hand and get to know me first? Make me feel like I matter to him and that I’m important? No, I’m sorry, I must be dreaming. And on top of that, he’s gorgeous. I don’t just mean passable. I don’t just mean scrubs up nicely. I mean, drop-dead, head-turningly, makes-you-forget-your-own-name beautiful. No wonder you wear that the whole time. Take that off, no one will get anything done!”

“Cassandra, Cullen and Leliana have seen me without it, they coped,” Miraak said, knowing he was blushing again but not caring. He could listen to Dorian talk about how wonderful he was all day.

“Cassandra is ever the master of her emotions, Leliana plain doesn’t have any and Cullen is essentially inert,” Dorian said dismissively. “Of course they’re not falling into your arms. Me, on the other hand… we keep spending time together like this, we’re not going to be able to stop. And I don’t know about you, but that is terrifying. Everything in me is telling me to run but I don’t want to.”

He’d grown serious, staring at the shuttered window, worry in his eyes and now Miraak was worrying too, because the last thing he wanted was for Dorian to run. Bad enough his own fears were getting the better of him. Dorian couldn’t run away as well!

“No wonder you got nervous earlier,” Dorian was continuing. “Emotions running high, neither of us used to this. The sensible thing to do would be to call this off now and never speak of it again.”

Even as Miraak’s brain promptly screamed NO at him, Dorian glanced up, sad little smile on his face.

“Alas for me, I’m not very good at sensible. Are you?”

Ha! As if. As fucking if. Atmorans in general and Miraak in particular were known for acting on their emotions. Following their hearts. Who cared if it cost them later, go for what you wanted. Victory or Sovngarde!

He couldn’t let Dorian go either. Even if he couldn’t get the vision of Saering lying dead out of his mind. Even if he had a tendency to destroy everything he touched. Even if…

He couldn’t hurt Dorian. He just couldn’t, it would destroy him. And if he reacted to losing Dorian like he had Saering, not just him. All Solstheim had paid for his maddened grieving.

 _So why not yield to him then?_

Because Miraak didn’t quite feel safe enough yet… and it was a lot to ask of Dorian. Stop Miraak turning into a monster because he couldn’t stop himself? 

No. Too much to ask. But the temptation to rest his head in Dorian’s lap and yield wouldn’t go away. He just didn’t want Dorian to hurt and abuse him once he was there.

Miraak really needed to unpack this, and he would, he definitely would. But right now, he just wanted Dorian here.

A knock on the door startled them both out of their reverie, and Miraak recalled there was food on the way, wasn’t there? Cursing under his breath, he reached for his mask. Face concealed once more, Miraak cast the door-opening spell, and sure enough, three Inquisition servants arrived with dinner for two. Roast nug and elfroot, with assorted other vegetables in a red wine sauce, it turned out. Also a basket of sweets and little Orlesian cakes which Josephine had sent along personally.

And a locked box which was from Leliana apparently. A personal gift for Miraak.

Miraak thanked the servants, tipped them for their trouble and then opened the box… and immediately wished he hadn’t. Several bottles of lubricating oil. A set of fur-lined leather wrist restraints. One enchanted vibrating ring definitely NOT designed for a finger, and three tapered ceramic plugs with flared bases in different sizes intended for… Miraak could guess where. And was that a… that was a leather ball in a harness, intended to gag someone with.

Thanking the gods for the mask, he hastily locked the box shut and kicked it under the bed. Not now. Not right now. They were both feeling emotional enough right now. Neither of them needed the possibility of someone getting tied to the bed and being fucked while gagged adding to an already potent emotional mix.

Even if part of Miraak’s brain was already whispering ‘please’ and ‘hail Thuri’.

Miraak resolutely shut it down and turned to his dinner, viciously ripping the mask off and taking a gulp of wine, before remembering he had a guest and pulling himself together.

“May I ask what was in the box?” Dorian asked, seeming to have his own emotions back under control, but sounding concerned for Miraak. 

“Not anything we’re using tonight,” Miraak said firmly, which only piqued Dorian’s interest further.

“Meaning we might use it another night? Together – wait. No. No! She didn’t! The scary spymaster with no emotions didn’t send you sex toys!”

“Also lubricant,” Miraak admitted. Dorian made this odd little noise in the back of his throat, and Miraak looked up, met his eyes and then neither could help it. Dorian burst out laughing, practically crying as he doubled up in mirth, and then Miraak was lost too, awkwardness dispelled at least a bit as he put his head in his hands and let laughter take him.

“Oh Maker,” Dorian finally said after pulling himself together. “Your advisors certainly take care of you, don’t they, Miraak? I can hardly wait to see what Cullen’s contribution will be.”

That set Miraak off again and it was a few moments before he could pull himself together.

“Some sort of manual from the Chantry on the consequences of sin, probably,” Miraak said, smirking, which gave Dorian yet another fit of the giggles.

“Our food is going to go cold, shall we eat?” Dorian finally said, drying his eyes. “Don’t know about you, but I’m starving!”

Now that his deepest, darkest feelings were no longer up for discussion, Dorian seemed his normal self again, and that had a way of soothing Miraak. Yes. This. This felt good. This felt safe. This was the Dorian that drew him like nothing else. It didn’t all have to be emotional intensity, did it?

A little emotional withdrawal would be good for them both. Not too much. Just a little. Let their emotional states recover. Then return again, gently this time. Carefully. Find out what was all right and what wasn’t. It wasn’t exactly Miraak’s nature to be cautious to put it mildly… but he wasn’t a fool either. 

He also had food in front of him, and one physical need had a way of outweighing the other. So they ate, sitting in companionable silence for a time, and then Miraak remembered the other thing he should really ask about.

“I forgot to ask. Felix, how is he? He didn’t come with you.”

“No,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “But he’s well. He’s not sure what to do with himself now he’s actually got a future, he’d just planned on going back home to Tevinter to warn people about the Venatori, and then going back to the Alexius estate to die. Now he’s got to think about living as a rich soporatus with no Magisterium seat. Not an enviable situation in Tevinter, I might add. But he’s alive and well and… I’m glad not to be mourning him. I saw him off with a couple of Alexius’s soldiers – they weren’t all Venatori, some were family retainers, loyal to the family, not the cult. They’ll get Felix home safely.”

“And you didn’t go with him,” Miraak noted, not displeased about this but feeling a little sad for Felix.

“No,” Dorian said shortly. “We talked about everything, and he agreed I should help you in person. Felix isn’t a warrior and he’s not a mage. He can do more in Tevinter than he can here. But I’m largely a pariah back home, yet I’m a skilled mage and can hold my own in a fight. I can help you, Miraak. And I want to. Like I said before, we both saw what the stakes were in that dark future. I think it came about more down to your absence than mine, but I want to do what I can to stop it happening. I couldn’t live with myself if I just walked away.”

Not just him keeping Dorian here. Interesting. But still welcome. Loyalty to the cause was as important as personal feelings for the Herald. Perhaps more so.

“I’m glad you came,” Miraak told him, meaning every word. “I hope… Dorian, whatever happens, I do care about you. Even if we’re never lovers, I hope you stay. I would mourn your absence keenly.”

Silence from Dorian who sipped his wine, looking away, sad little smile on his face.

“And I yours, my friend,” Dorian said softly. Miraak closed his eyes, wishing it was more than that. There must be Tevinter terms of endearment. Maybe one day Dorian would feel comfortable using them. 

_I shouldn’t have resisted earlier. I shouldn’t have pushed him away._

_Drem, Miraak. It wasn’t a choice. We’ll talk one day. Work out a way of doing this without fear getting in the way._

But he had little hope of that happening tonight. All he could do was let Dorian know he still cared, still had feelings. Still wanted him around. Anything else was out of his hands.

Dorian sipped his wine, ate a little more of his dinner, then concealed his emotions under a more conversational demeanor and changed the subject.

“So. Miraak. I had questions. Many questions. Lots and lots and lots of questions, and I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know. How old are you? You’re not that young, but hardly elderly either.”

Oh gods. Miraak didn’t want to lie, but giving an honest answer was out of the question.

“Not counting the time I was trapped in Oblivion? I was thirty-seven when captured. I suppose now I’m free I’ve started ageing again. And you?”

“Thirty,” Dorian said with a grimace. “I think I spent my thirtieth birthday drinking to forget. I don’t remember much about it. I know I woke up in a stables just outside Vol Dorma underneath a handsome elven stablehand. I suppose I’ve woken up in worse places.”

In Oblivion, every day had been a waking nightmare. Miraak secretly envied Dorian the ability to do something as normal as go out and drink… but it sounded like it hadn’t actually been fun for him.

“Well, you are still as handsome as ever,” Miraak told him. “I hope your next birthday is one to remember.”

Maybe Dorian would wake up on top of a handsome Atmoran Dragonborn and actually feel happy about himself. Miraak could hope.

“I hope so too,” Dorian, glancing up at him and smiling, almost shyly. Then he returned to the interrogation. “So. This Voice magic. What is it. How does it work? How did you learn it? Can anyone learn it? Are you taking pupils?”

He should have seen this coming. Dorian taking notes on Dovahzul and the Thu’um, that was all he needed.

“I’m not taking pupils. No, not just anyone can learn it. I mean… yes, you could learn Dovahzul and maybe even a Shout but you’d never get really good at it. As to what it is and how I learnt it… Dorian, this a long story. And a painful one.”

“I have time,” Dorian said, growing serious. “And you don’t have to tell me the painful details.”

Saering’s broken body at the foot of the stairs. A Rotmulaag at his funeral pyre luring him on. Seeking forbidden knowledge and turning to the lord of all such things. And a Daedra finally telling him what his own religion never would.

So Miraak started at the beginning, and explained what Dovahzul really was, and what the Dov were, and that they’d been given the gift of the Thu’um by the gods that created them. And that they’d ruled humans back in those days, Atmoran and Reachman alike bowing the knee. Atmorans because they respected the dragons’ might and saw them as children of Akatosh and Reachmen because dangerous and forbidden magic was ever a lure to them.

Dorian listened, eyes growing wide, as he heard tales of a Dragon Cult in a land he’d never heard of.

“Dragon Cult,” he whispered. “Maker, Miraak, this is something right out of Tevinter history! And not the nicer parts either. Our – my – ancestors worshipped the old god dragons. And our priests used to say they could talk to them. But no one ever documented a dragon language. Or Voice magic. But the cult existed. And you say you belonged to one ruled by dragons that talked. Shouted. In this… Skyrim?”

“I lived on a far peninsula to the north,” Miraak clarified. “Called Solstheim. A backwater by anyone’s standards, and I was no one special to anyone but my parents when I was born. I grew up a hunter’s son in a small peasant village. My mother butchered his kills and helped feed the entire village. I was their second son of three surviving children. Life was hard and I was destined for… I don’t know. Maybe a hunter like my father. Maybe joining the Dragon Cult as a minor cleric or a soldier. Then they found I was a mage. The village priest started mentoring me after that and when I came of age, they took me to the temple to become a priest in their order. Dorian, it is another land. You will not have heard of it. None there knew of Thedas either, then or now.”

“No, but… no one knows where _we_ came from,” Dorian whispered. “The elves were always here but our Neromenian ancestors – no one knows. We just appeared one day. We’ve always speculated there was another land, but you tell me there’s this whole… Tamriel place? And you worshipped dragons once?”

“Yes. A very long time ago,” Miraak said, realising he had no choice but to admit to Dorian how long he’d been in the Fade for. “Dorian, while I was a prisoner in the Fade – I didn’t age. I stayed as I was. I was there for a long time. The entire cult died while I was in there, and I think I played a part in its fall. Ages passed, four by their calendar. My entire home is gone forever. This is home now, Dorian.”

“You were in the Fade for four hundred years?” Dorian gasped.

“Four thousand,” Miraak said, not meeting Dorian’s eyes. “Tamriel’s ages are marked by significant events, they don’t change on the century like yours do.”

Dorian said nothing, reaching for the wine and refilling his glass and taking a swig, before sitting back in his chair, staring at Miraak.

“Does anyone else know this?” Dorian whispered.

“The Council know I was in there since before the Chantry’s founding. I didn’t tell them the exact length of time. Dorian, I got out. I’m fine now.”

Dorian set his wine glass aside and reached for Miraak’s hands, taking them in his.

“I’m not sure you are,” Dorian said softly. “Everyone you loved died, your entire home is gone, no one here speaks your language… you must feel so alone.”

“I am used to that, Dorian,” Miraak sighed. “It’s enough I got free. Besides I have the Inquisition. And I have you. And two advisors who found out I had a dinner guest and sent gifts to make it a special night. All of it is helping.”

Dorian still had that incredibly sad look in his eyes as he reached out and stroked Miraak’s face.

“Don’t seal yourself away in here the whole time, will you,” Dorian said, voice changing to that same, gentle tone he’d used in the Dark Future. “Promise me you’ll check in on people. Talk to them. Make friends. You don’t have to tell them your entire life story but please let people help you. You have my permission to unmask for whoever you need to. You don’t need to keep this for me. In fact, I hope you don’t. Have yourself some other important people in your life.”

“You won’t get jealous if I show my real face to other people then?” Miraak asked, wondering if Dorian really knew what he was asking.

“Of course not, don’t be-” Dorian paused, tilting his head, surprise dawning as it occurred to him a man who’d worn that mask continually for four thousand years wouldn’t remove it lightly. “This is intimate for you, isn’t it? You don’t take the mask off for just anyone, do you? I thought – well. I didn’t know you’d spent four thousand years with just demons for company. How on earth you’re as together as you are, I don’t know. But I think I know now why you were so scared when you realised the Breach covered the entire sky. You never want to go back, do you?”

“No,” Miraak admitted, seeing no point in lying. “And yes, it’s an intimate act. I took the name Miraak when I joined the priesthood, but the mask came after. They gave it to me when I rose through the ranks and became the chief priest. It was my badge of office. After receiving that – when you wear that mask, you’re the most powerful person in the temple. Everyone obeys your every command. I was young when they put me in charge. Twenty four. The previous priest died, and they picked me. Because not only was I fluent in Dovahzul and a skilled mage, I’d learnt a dozen Shouts in the time it took most priests to learn one. Dragonborn, they called me, the one with the blood of a dragon, because I was learning the Thu’um like a dragon could. It was kept quiet. I was told by my mentors to keep the power hidden, in case the Dov grew jealous. But it also meant few opposed my appointment as the new Dragon Priest. Once I had the mask, I never removed it in public again. Because what was being an ordinary man to being a mighty priest and ruler?”

“And now you’re a Herald,” Dorian said, staring at the mask where Miraak had laid it aside. “And that mask is symbolising something else.”

“Yes,” Miraak said, toying with it, tracing its familiar features with the hand Dorian wasn’t holding. He’d already made contact with Hermaeus Mora even before getting it. Casual contact only, of course, a favour for a favour. But he’d incorporated elements of Apocrypha into it as a little inside joke. It wasn’t so funny now. But the mask had been his public face and companion for a long time. He wasn’t parting with it now.

Still. Maybe it could be laid aside for a time. For Dorian, absolutely.

“And yet you took it off without hesitation for me,” Dorian said, turning his attention back to Miraak, wonder in his eyes. “I… thank you. I thought I’d have to work harder.”

“There was more hesitation than you think,” Miraak admitted. “Before you got here, I was half tempted to cancel the whole dinner. But then you arrived. I have no regrets.”

Dorian looked down at Miraak’s hands in his, stared at them and then seemed to come to a decision.

“Nor I,” Dorian said firmly, before lifting Miraak’s hand to his lips and kissing it, holding it to his cheek for a few precious seconds before letting it go. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. You have to understand my previous love life has mostly been a long series of casual encounters and more serious ones that could never go anywhere due to circumstances. I’ve never had anyone showing me interest with quite the intensity you do. And no one’s ever courted me before. Back home, it’s all about getting together quickly to satiate a need. There’s no space for anything else. I need to get used to the idea of more being possible. Think about what that might mean or look like. Also it’s becoming very obvious to me that you’re not nearly as indomitable as you like to pretend, and that underneath all this, you’re actually very vulnerable and need taking care of. I need to think about that as well. Would you be very offended if we took this slowly? I don’t think I can spend the night with you yet. But I would like to do this again. You’re easily the most fascinating person I ever met. And you’re also extremely beautiful. Not to mention intelligent, passionate, intense and… Maker, you’re perfect. And I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh don’t be,” Miraak said, leaning forward, his face inches from Dorian’s, heart singing as he realised it was going to be all right. Dorian was on the same page he was, and cared about him too. “Dorian fariik. Every word from your lips is bringing me joy.”

Dorian felt the same way he did, and there was no need to pretend otherwise any more. Maybe sex could wait… but Miraak wasn’t stinting on the affection front. His lips met Dorian’s, and Dorian put up no resistance as Miraak’s arms went round him, actually moaning as he kissed Miraak back, hands leaving Miraak’s face and going round his shoulders, and then Miraak lifted Dorian from the chair entirely, pulling him into his lap, leaning backwards and lifting his face to meet Dorian’s. And for the next few minutes there was no thought in either’s mind but kissing the other, finally, finally able to admit the emotions were there, and neither was alone any more.

Dorian was the first to stop, gasping for breath but not moving away, head resting against Miraak’s, showing no sign of wanting to move, and neither did for some time.

“That was all right?” Miraak finally murmured, nuzzling Dorian’s neck, and Dorian laughed softly.

“Yes,” Dorian said, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Yes, it’s more than all right. This is as far as I’m willing to go for now, but Maker, being this close to you is a delight. And I don’t have to worry about jumping off your lap in case your parents or your fiancee or whoever else walks in! Marvellous!”

The levity hid a history of secret liaisons, of being someone’s dirty little secret, of being fundamentally expendable, if he was cared about at all. Miraak tightened his grip because that was a chapter of Dorian’s life that was going to be very firmly closed.

“What changed your mind?” Miraak murmured. “Earlier you were all ‘best for everyone if we never touch, we should do the sensible thing and run’ and now you’re willingly in my lap.”

A pause, and then Dorian placed his arm around Miraak’s neck, smiling gently down at him.

“First of all, you agreed to take things slowly, which means I now have time to sort out the depraved filth in my head before it’s ever an issue,” Dorian said, smiling gently down at him. “And secondly, you let yourself be vulnerable around me and I’m realising the prospect of taking advantage of that appals me, in fact what I’m actually feeling is this incredible urge to take care of you. So that’s what I’m going to do. And in order to do that, I have to be able to show you affection. So here I am. Being affectionate.”

Miraak closed his eyes, knowing he was smiling like an idiot but not caring, because Dorian wanted to take care of him. It was as good as a declaration of love, and Miraak for one had no problem with having Dorian around to look after him.

 _I’m here. I’ll protect you._ Yes, Dorian had been and had kept his word. And now he was here to do it again, for as long as necessary.

Miraak could be vulnerable if he wanted. He could take the mask off and still be loved, in fact it had brought Dorian closer. He wasn’t prey. Not unless he wanted to be. (Part of him wanted to be.) But Dorian wasn’t going to hurt him and he got to negotiate terms. Yes. This. This was what – who – he wanted. He didn’t know where things went from here but there was somewhere to go and that pleased him immensely.

Dorian at some point would have to leave and go back to his own quarters, and Miraak would miss his presence acutely. But right here, right now, he had a lover again. 

_Zu’u lokaal, Dorian. Never leave._ Miraak knew he himself never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the Dovahzul:
> 
> Vothur - literally Unboss. Refers not to a subordinate, but to someone who thinks he's all that but in reality isn't. All mouth, no trousers, but that sort of thing is a deadly faux pas among the Dov. It's a pretty vicious insult to a Dovahzul speaker.
> 
> Deyra - Daedra
> 
> Kul Haas! - Good health.
> 
> Fenahmul - future husband.
> 
> Zu'u lokaal - I love (you). Dovahzul doesn't bother with pronouns where it's obvious what's being referred to.
> 
> A/N: Took about three rewrites to get this how I wanted it! I hope you like it.


	8. Taarsidath-an Halsaam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, and all is well in Miraak's world... at least until some new guests arrive. Fortunately the fallout isn't his to deal with as duty calls to the Storm Coast, and Dorian's his first pick for company. However, the newest addition to the Inquisition could pose a few problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few cutscenes, the after-effects of Miraak making the Lord Seeker look like an idiot... and you know Iron Bull really really likes dragons? How do you think he'll react to a man who breathes fire.

Morning came and Miraak was alone. Dorian had eventually left a bit before midnight and it had taken all Miraak’s willpower not to lure him into bed after all. As it was, the kiss goodbye had taken rather longer than it really should have.

One day there would be a time when the kiss goodbye was simply a kiss goodnight and Miraak would wake in his lokaaliin’s arms. But until that day came, he’d just have to be patient.

Miraak could do that. He’d waited in Apocrypha long enough, had he not? Still, he did have advisors to thank.

First Josephine, to thank for the wine and goodies. 

“Dorian informs me it was a very expensive vintage and likely an heirloom from Antiva. You truly did not have to gift it to me.”

“That… is true,” Josephine admitted. “I was saving it for a special occasion.”

“And you just gave it to me??” Miraak cried. “Ambassador! Why?”

“I said I was saving it for a special occasion, and I did,” Josephine said, glancing up with a knowing little smile on her face. “Is Dorian now officially the Herald’s lover? Should we upgrade his allowance and accommodation?”

“Yes – no! Gods, Josephine, it’s not that simple,” Miraak sighed. “I wish it was. No. Give Dorian no additional special treatment. He will not appreciate it. We have agreed to take things slowly. But… yes, we’re together.”

Josephine actually squealed before getting her emotions swiftly under control.

“Er… I mean, that is good to know, my lord. Truly, I’m happy for you. After your history, you need emotional connections, stability, something to ground you. Dorian will be good for you in that regard.”

Yes. Yes he would. Miraak thanked her again, relieved the mask hid his face because he must be blushing. And then it was Leliana’s turn.

He found her in her tent, praying. Ah. Perhaps he should come back.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker’s will is written. Is that what you want from us? Blood? Is death your only blessing?”

He really ought to come back – damn, she’d seen him.

“Herald. Do you have any answers? They say you speak for Andraste. What is she telling you? What’s the Maker’s game? His divine plan?”

Miraak really didn’t see much evidence of a plan unfolding if he was honest, in fact the whole thing appeared a complete fuck-up from start to finish.

“You know I never saw Andraste, I have not lied to you,” Miraak said wearily. “I don’t even think there is a divine plan. Sheer luck brought me here, and we’ve been stumbling in the dark ever since. Dragon blood gives no audience with the gods, Leliana. All it ever drew to me was demons.”

Leliana looked away, shaking her head. 

“So I should believe what? That the Maker truly has turned from us? That he truly doesn’t care? The Chantry teaches that, you know. He demands it all, as repentance for our sins. Our lives, our deaths! Justinia gave him everything she had, and he still let her die!”

Leliana got up, coming to stand beside him, staring up at Haven Chantry behind him, and Miraak felt for her. She’d served as Justinia’s Left Hand, and they’d clearly been close.

“Krosis, fahdoni,” Miraak said softly. “My apologies, my friend. I can’t bring her back, but we will find who killed her.”

“And in our hour of need, vengeance is supposed to comfort me,” Leliana sighed, and Miraak recalled the version of her in the dark future, who had nothing else left. Damn it. He was trying to stop that happening.

“I used to believe I was chosen, just as they say you are,” Leliana said, still staring at the Chantry. “I fought darkspawn. Helped the Divine. Did the Maker’s work with her. But now she’s dead and serving the Maker meant nothing. It was all for noth-”

“No,” Miraak said, placing a hand on her arm. “I read of the Blight. You helped with that. Everything you did for Justinia, it will have left its mark. Your work here, it helps. It all helps. We don’t know Bormahu isn’t truly watching.”

“He left you in the Fade for a thousand years and your entire culture died,” Leliana snapped. “Who are you to lecture me?”

“The one who escaped and who will save the world this time,” Miraak said firmly. “If the Breach hadn’t happened when it did, I would never have been able to escape. And if I’d not escaped and ended up here, I would never have met any of you. Or Dorian. Maybe that is the Maker’s plan. Bring me here and give me another chance to do what I was supposed to do.”

“Or maybe it was just chance,” Leliana said, raising an eyebrow… but his words had got to her, he could tell. “Hmm. Another chance? Were you supposed to save the world before then?”

“I was made Dragonborn for a reason,” Miraak said, staring at the ground. “I never did know why. No one explained to me what I was. I didn’t have a mentor to teach me any of this. In the end, it was a Daedric lord who explained all to me, not a fellow priest or my supposed god. And if the dragons had ever known what I was, they would have had me killed. I think I was intended to kill their leader, bring them down. But I never did. I didn’t work with the others planning a rebellion, and they had to use other means to defeat the lead dragon. They only were able to banish, not kill. Another had to do that much later. I think I should have been the one to do it, but I chose not to. Perhaps imprisonment was my punishment.”

“You think the Breach might have been the Maker’s tool to break you out?” Leliana said, laughing mirthlessly. “If he killed Justinia just to rescue you, what manner of god is he? One who’ll sacrifice hundreds of the faithful, including the best of us, to rescue one Dragonborn. Is that what a Dragonborn is worth?”

“I will demonstrate that worth in full when I bring down Justinia’s killer, I assure you,” Miraak told her.

“Bold words,” Leliana said, folding her arms, but she was smiling a little. “Well. Bringing justice is what we’re about, no? And you did bring the mages. Offering the promise of eventual freedom will have earned you enemies, but it is my job to deal with threats. I will monitor the situation and keep you informed. Now. Happier thoughts. How did last night go? My people tell me Dorian left your cabin in the middle of the night… but was seen blowing you a kiss. I don’t think he’s got up yet. So I’m asking you. Did you have a good time?”

The sly grin on her face confirmed she’d known full well what she was about sending the toys.

“Yes, but not in the way you think. We didn’t use any of your gifts in the end. We talked and have decided to take it slowly. May I take it you approve of matters?”

Leliana just grinned. 

“Life is short, Miraak. Take pleasure where you find it. Also you two suit each other. You need someone who’s not afraid to set boundaries and can keep up with you. And Dorian needs someone who can get him to stop dancing around a situation and take things seriously.”

“That is very optimistic of you,” Miraak said, already sensing this was going to be a task and a half. “I have yet to successfully manage that.” Unless making himself look vulnerable and scared and eliciting Dorian’s caring instincts counted. Maybe that was the only way.

To his surprise, Leliana actually smiled.

“I have faith in you,” she said confidently. Which, considering she’d virtually lost faith in her god, said a lot. Miraak said nothing, just patting her on the shoulder.

“You have my thanks,” he told her. “I’m glad to have him. He very much has a place in my heart.”

“Good,” Leliana said, nodding approval. “Now, if there is nothing else – agent, what is it?”

“Sister!” one of the agents gasped as he ran in. “Sister, Commander Cullen sent me. We need the Herald! Enchanter Vivienne from Montsimmard brought the Loyalist mages… and a great many Templars.”

Templars?? Fucking hell, half the mage rebellion was already here. What was she thinking??

“You’d better get down there,” Leliana said, clearly thinking the same thing. Miraak was already on his way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

He arrived to find Cassandra and Cullen interviewing a newly arrived Vivienne, who was indeed accompanied by a train of mages… and a not-small force of Templars. Next to her was a young man in the armour with the same colour skin she had, although Miraak wasn’t entirely certain they were actually kin.

“Commander Cullen, I think you’ll find my entourage was cleared with the Ambassador weeks ago,” Vivienne said smoothly. “We were assured you’d have suitable accommodation for us?”

“For you and forty mages, yes, not for an entire company of Templars!” Cullen cried. “I mean… not that they’re not welcome of course, but we simply can’t accommodate…”

“Commander, there must be somewhere,” Cassandra said. “They’ve come all this way, and you wanted their aid in the first place!”

Cullen glanced at the prime land on the other side of the lake, already home to the vanguard of the mage rebellion.

“Maker help me, I can’t put them over there, Fiona and her people are there already, the Herald promised them no Templars!”

“The… Herald??” Vivienne said, frowning. “Where is he. I think we need to talk.”

Oh gods. He should have foreseen this. Vivienne would not take the recruitment of the mages lightly. Especially unsupervised. Manners on then, Miraak.

“Enchanter Vivienne,” Miraak announced, striding down the steps to meet her. “Welcome to my strunmah, to Haven. Alas, it is no chateau, but it is home. How was your journey. And… where did you find all these Templars?”

He looked again at the young Templar next to her and realised he did know this man after all. He’d been with the Lord Seeker at Val Royeaux. Except he had a scar on his cheek not there before. In fact, quite a lot of the Templars had damage to their gear or were carrying injuries. Had there been fighting?

“Find them? My dear, we ran into them on the road to Haven and once we’d ironed out our initial differences, found them quite the asset,” Vivienne said calmly. “It turns out your little display in Val Royeaux changed a few Templars’ minds about the direction their Order was heading in, and Ser Barris here lead the dissenters here. Isn’t that right, my dear?”

“She makes it sound so easy,” Barris sighed. “Yes, there were arguments. And discussions. And it all came to a head one night, and we ended up having to fight our own. Lord Seeker Lucius? Turned out to be an envy demon impersonating him. Nearly killed me, did take a few of us with it. The demon eventually fled, but it was too late by then. I knew we couldn’t best the others. They’re too far gone. So I sounded the retreat… and then we decided to come here. I mean, after what you did in Val Royeaux… we realised you were the only one who could stop them. Him. It. Sir, please. We’ve nowhere else to go.”

Except possibly back to the Chantry and how willing Mother Hevara would be to take the Templars back after one of them had publicly hit her was debatable.

“So… you’re telling me the order tasked to protect the world from demons and the like was infiltrated at the highest level… by a demon,” Miraak said, not quite able to keep the amusement out of his voice. He could hear Cassandra disapproving already.

“It’s worse than that, sir,” Barris said, almost pleading. “The others, the ones who stayed, they’re all taking this new form of lyrium. It’s red. Not blue. It gives them powers you couldn’t dream of, but it makes them… different. They lose their personalities. Become colder. Harder. I think a few of them are starting to… change. And I don’t think they’re Andrastian any more, they’re worshipping this Elder One. Some sort of new god. I don’t think it was the demon either, I think it’s something else.”

The Elder One. Again. First trying to suborn the mages, now corrupting the Templars. And if it had not been for Miraak indirectly causing them to question their leaders, these might have succumbed to the red lyrium as well. As it was, enough of them had started questioning orders to lead to an investigation, a confrontation, a fight… and the survivors on the rebel side fleeing to Haven.

Where Miraak now had to find them somewhere to camp. Away from the mages.

“I’ve heard of the Elder One,” Miraak said wearily. “We don’t yet know who he is, but he is powerful and responsible for the explosion at the Conclave. Also the leader of a cult of Tevinter supremacists who were trying to undermine the mage rebellion. We prevented that. It grieves me to hear we could not do the same for you.”

“Sir, you did enough,” Barris told him fervently. “Without your influence, I think it would have been a lot worse. As it was, there were just enough dissenters for us to make our escape. Sir, we’d like to help. In any way we can.”

Vivienne was looking rather proud of the young man, and even Cullen seemed impressed. Well, he would, Miraak supposed. He’d advocated going after the Templars in the first place. Miraak glanced at Cassandra, and she simply nodded at him.

“Then be welcome, Ser Barris,” Miraak said. “But you should know we are working with the mage rebellion. And this is no Circle. They are not your charges, to be watched and guarded against. They are on probation, but they were promised Templar-free accommodation. So I will hear of no Templars going to their camp without my express permission, or three-quarters of the Council in my absence. And when you mix in Haven itself, you will behave yourselves. Unless you see either a demon turning up or attempted murder, you will not harass them. Cullen’s men provide Inquisition security and enforcement. You will be answering to him. Don’t take matters into your own hands. Cullen, does the space behind the Chantry have enough room for them?”

“Just about,” Cullen said, mentally calculating tent space available versus how many they’d need. “You’ll be in eight-man tents but you’re used to that. Come with me.”

The Templars filed out after Cullen, and Miraak watched them go, turning to Vivienne.

“Enchanter. Welcome. Josephine assures me you personally are in the Chantry and your people are camping over in that area behind us. Separate from Fiona’s people.”

“Who you just let have their own camp with no Templar supervision?” Vivienne said sceptically.

“Trust has to start somewhere, does it not?” Miraak said, shrugging. “If one turns into an abomination, they will be the ones harmed. I have shown them a sign of good faith but they were also told they are on probation. Should they disappoint me… they will know it.”

“That sounds more like the man they’re all talking about,” Vivienne said, approval making its way back into her voice. “Still, you do now have enough Templars to police them if need be. Make use of them if you have to, my dear. Just… don’t let them run themselves either. Barris is a capable enough young man, but he is young. Still. Better him than his elders.”

From the sounds of it, she wasn’t wrong. The Elder One feeding red lyrium to the Templars and corrupting half of them. That was all kinds of not good. And now there were Templars here. Alongside rebel mages. Wonderful. And he was leaving for the Storm Coast soon, meaning if trouble erupted, he wouldn’t be around to step in. Frankly the entire situation felt sticky. But… it did mean extra help with the Breach. He’d just have to brief Leliana and Josephine, and hope that his council between them could keep things under control.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Miraak needn’t have worried. It turned out Cullen was quite capable of dealing with mage-Templar aggravation, and didn’t favour the Templars over the mages. It turned out Vivienne was capable of charming even the most truculent Templar into backing down, and had Barris won over completely. It turned out Cassandra could intimidate nearly anyone into backing down. And Josephine as always seemed to be able to get both sides to see common ground.

The Inquisition would be fine. Of course it would. They’d cope just fine. In the meantime he could go to the Storm Coast and see what had happened to Leliana’s vanguard patrol because they’d not heard from it. Bar an attack from the Elder One, they’d be fine.

Which just led to more worries about what if the Elder One did choose now to attack? What if…

There was no point worrying. He had to head up there regardless. But with Vivienne newly arrived and both her and Cassandra needed to defuse fights, he couldn’t choose them for his team. So Blackwall it was, and Varric for distraction value and… of course he’d asked Dorian. Who’d smiled knowingly, purred that he knew Miraak couldn’t do without him, and promptly packed his things.

For the first day, things went well, but the real trouble started at nightfall when Miraak realised there were only two tents.

“Yes, Inquisition’s had to ration tents since the Templars turned up,” Blackwall said, apparently assembling his with ease. “Varric and I are in this one. You and Dorian are all right to share the other, aren’t you?”

Only one tent. For him to share. With his new boyfriend. Who he’d agreed to take things slowly with. Fuck. Or not. 

Miraak risked a glance at Dorian, who had this very odd look on his face, and then Dorian’s next words managed to break Miraak’s composure completely.

“Well. Now we know what Cullen’s contribution is.”

Miraak did lose it at that point, bursting out laughing, because while Josephine and Leliana intervening to boost his love life was, looking back, expected, Cullen getting in on the act was so unlikely, it was funny.

“Are you all right with that, lokaali?” Miraak had to ask once he’d pulled himself together. Dorian nodded, wiping his eyes.

“I am if you are. Shall we get this thing up?”

Wrestling the tent proved to be a logistical challenge involving much cursing in about four different languages between them, and a source of much entertainment for the other two, until Dorian exasperatedly asked if there was a Thu’um for this, and while there wasn’t, Miraak did then recall that they were both mages and also both fucking idiots apparently, and a few spells had the tent assembled, before bedrolls were added and their gear stowed.

Dorian lay back on his own bedroll, still giggling.

“Oh dear. How are two powerful and intelligent men so useless at anything practical? And how does Blackwall make this sort of thing look so easy? He’s out there cooking now. Cooking! He just got Varric to shoot some poor fluffy forest creatures and now dinner is happening. Me, I can just about manage it, had to learn. You? No, don’t even answer that, have you ever had to cook for yourself in your entire adult life.”

“Didn’t need to eat in the Fade,” Miraak said evasively, not even bothering to mention Dragon Priests did not do their own cooking any more than Heralds needed to.

“I’m going with no,” Dorian sighed. “Maker, I hope the Inquisition endures, I’m not sure you’d survive without your own cult looking after you.”

Nor was Miraak.

“We will save the world, and then they will love us so much, we will live like kings in a chateau somewhere warmer and sunnier than this,” Miraak said cheerfully. “Niid faas, fariiki. No one needs to be good at everything.”

“I suppose that is true,” Dorian said thoughtfully. He glanced over at Miraak, actually smiling.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian sighed. “We were trying to take this slowly and now we’re going to have to spend the night together. You are going to be all right, aren’t you. I promise no shenanigans. No hanky-panky. If you find me getting handsy in the middle of the night, it is because I am too cold and need my handsome Dragonborn to keep me warm.”

“Can’t have that, can we,” Miraak murmured, pulling his mask off then rolling over and reaching out for Dorian, because right here, right now, he felt safe and relaxed and wanted nothing more than his boyfriend in his arms. Dorian opened his arms, lying back and pulling Miraak on top of him for a long, lingering kiss.

This was definitely going to be harder than he’d expected. But as the kiss came to an end, he rested his forehead against Dorian’s. He had someone to love again. Who cared if they were taking things slowly. Sex could wait. Dorian was worth waiting for. There was something delicious about not getting gratification right away, wasn’t there.

They hadn’t brought any lube anyway. Unless Leliana had sneaked it into their packs without them noticing, of course. Couldn’t be ruled out. 

“Right, you two!” Varric could be heard from outside. “Don’t know what you’re up to in there, but if you’re not out in five, you’re not getting fed!”

“We’d better join them,” Dorian sighed. “Are you…?”

He’d seen Miraak reach instinctively for his mask, and then it occurred to both of them that Miraak couldn’t eat with the mask on.

“You’re… going to eat in here? On your own? Maker, Miraak, will you be all right. Should I join you?”

Miraak stared at the mask, feeling the weight of the mask in his hands, and suddenly it felt heavier than normal. Not a badge of office. Just a burden. A thing that was keeping him shut away from people. Suddenly it started to feel like a cage, not a shield.

“Join the others,” Miraak sighed. Bad enough he was stuck on his own. He couldn’t ask Dorian to share his cage. “I’ll collect mine, eat in private then join you later for tinvaak. Is that all right?”

Dorian patted his cheek, sadness in his eyes.

“I wish you felt safe enough to join us,” Dorian said softly. “I know unmasking is hard for you, an act of intimacy, but it’s cutting you off from so much casual human interaction. I will be there for you when I can but I wish… I hope one day you feel safe enough to open up.”

Miraak nodded, not sure how to respond to that, because how did you? It wasn’t about fear, it was about power, about projecting an aura, about terrifying his foes. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t! But… there were no foes out there. Just Blackwall, who’d always been friendly and seemed to believe the Inquisition could achieve its goals, given time and resources. And Varric, storyteller, entertainer, who didn’t seem to see Miraak as anything other than another person. Not foes. Friends. If he let them be. And here he was, not even able to have a drink with them. Because of the mask.

Dorian kissed his forehead, promised to fetch his food for him and then was gone, and Miraak heard him asking Blackwall if he could plate up Miraak’s for him, he’d be out to join them later.

Miraak closed his eyes, emotions suddenly welling up, because the loneliness was hitting him in a way it never had in the Fade. Because there’d be the three of them having tinvaak and food, and he’d be stuck in here. Alone.

Gods damn it. He’d have Dorian there. It would be all right. Placing the mask on his bedroll, he steeled himself and left the tent, studiously not meeting anyone’s eyes, just sitting down next to Dorian.

“May I eat with you?” Miraak said softly, really not liking the sudden silence that had broken out, in fact he was half tempted to flee back into the tent… but Dorian’s hand in his stopped him.

“Well done,” Dorian whispered in his ear, kissing his cheek, before turning back to Blackwall. “Change of plan. Miraak is joining us after all. Would you like a drink, my dear?”

Yes, yes he would, and a bottle of Fereldan ale arrived in his hands in short order.

“Get that down you, Herald,” Blackwall said, amusement in his voice. “Good to see you finally mixing with us lesser beings. I must say, I’d expected… more intimidating. Less… pretty.”

Miraak promptly choked on his ale.

“I’m not _pretty!_ ” he cried, outraged, and Blackwall and Varric both burst out laughing, even as Dorian placed a firm hand on Miraak’s thigh to stop him bolting for the tent.

“Hush,” Dorian said firmly. “You’re adorable, and you know it. Which is why the mask. No one is going to flee in terror or beg for mercy if they’ve got those baby blues staring them down. Don’t argue, Miraak. Your face is beautiful and perfect, meant for staring at in adoration.”

“Maker help me, can I eat in the tent?” Varric asked wearily. “No offence, I’m happy for you, really but if I have to watch you two be sickening all night…”

“I am not sickening anyone,” Miraak said tersely, taking another drink of ale. “This one. This one is causing the trouble. I am a victim too.”

“Don’t let the glowering fool you. He loves it really,” Dorian said, cheerfully unrepentant. “Now, how about we start with the food.”

Yes. Food. Food was good. It would take the attention off him. And thankfully it did, the conversation moving on to other things, and him unmasking was not brought up again. And slowly, Miraak began to relax, because the food was good, and eating it with other people was good, and the tinvaak was flowing and so was the ale, and Dorian was there, and…

Miraak realised he was happy. Possibly a bit tipsy. But happy. And Dorian was there and seemed quite happy to hold hands or lean into Miraak while he hugged him. 

Finally, the meal was done, washing up happened, they stayed up for a little longer drinking and talking and eventually, Blackwall retired to bed, Varric took the first watch, and Dorian gently indicated for Miraak to join him in the tent. Miraak pulled his robes off, stripping down to his long thermal undersuit before slipping under the blankets, obediently closing his eyes while Dorian stripped down to… knowing him, he was probably naked apart from his smallclothes. There was an image, but Miraak had promised not to look. Dorian finally settled himself next to Miraak, snuggling up against him for a goodnight kiss.

“Well done,” Dorian said, snuggling into his arms. “I’m proud of you, you know. Bit by bit, you’re remembering how to be human again.”

Miraak said nothing, holding Dorian close, because he couldn’t even argue, could he. He’d had only Daedra and dragons for company for four millennia. He’d forgotten what the simple pleasures of eating and drinking round a campfire with two friends and his lover in his arms were like.

“It was not as bad as I feared in the end,” Miraak said, shrugging. “Perhaps I will keep the mask off while we camp together.”

Dorian smiled, stroking Miraak’s hair and tucking it behind his ear.

“I’d like that,” Dorian said, approval and happiness radiating out of him and Miraak was sure he was blushing again. “It means I can spend more time admiring your handsome face. I meant it, you know. I could watch you all day. I know we’re taking it slowly. But this, being here, with you, is bringing me a sense of peace and contentment I’ve not felt in years. You make the freezing cold and sleeping on the ground actually bearable.”

Miraak grinned and pulled a fur blanket over Dorian, smiling back and suddenly feeling ridiculously happy.

“Zu’u lokaal,” Miraak murmured, because if Dorian was going to cover the truth, he might as well do the same. For now. Until Dorian was ready to hear it.

 _Whatever you want, my love. Whenever you’re ready._ Until then, Miraak would be there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the Storm Coast, and it turned out the Inquisition forward camp was there but suffering. They were being preyed on by the local bandits and had already lost people to them. Something for Miraak to look into. He was already looking forward to the ‘discussion’ with their leader.

But first, this Iron Bull, and from the sound of fighting down by the beach, it turned out they were already there. Yes, a group of mercenaries fighting some Venatori, and one of them…

Miraak had read descriptions of seven foot tall horned warriors that were all muscle and ferocity, and thought they were exaggerating. It turned out they were not, and one of these Qunari had just cut a Venatori soldier in two with one swing of his axe.

Damn. Miraak shivered at the sight and if he’d been single, that might have been it right there. It wouldn’t have been love. But it would certainly have been _fun_.

As it was, he had Dorian now and wasn’t swayed. But he did like the idea of showing off his own skills in a fight.

“MUL QAH DIIV!”

Dragon Aspect flared into life, mage armour was cast and Miraak followed it up with Whirlwind Sprint, straight at one of the bigger Venatori, his tentacle sword slicing viciously in, gutting the man, the force of the sprint doing most of the work. Then spin, turn, on to the next, wait for Blackwall to catch up, Dorian’s barrier settling in and it was time to have some goddamn fun.

And Miraak did, merrily dispatching two melee fighters, and as he dealt with one soldier, he saw an archer behind him and used Ice Form on the man, seconds before The Iron Bull charged in and shattered him into teeny tiny pieces, shouting ‘aw yeah!’ as he did.

Iron Bull could consider himself hired. Miraak looked around, saw there were no Venatori left standing, and then looked for the others. Dorian was staggering over, not hurt, just exhausted.

“What got in to you, Miraak, you normally fight ranged!” Dorian gasped, actually pouting. “You’re normally all Shout them away or keep them at bay with magic! You don’t… you don’t go haring into battle and melee fight!”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t do it,” Miraak said proudly. “I know how to fight, lokaali. Should I not use my skills?”

“I was in fear for your life the entire time!” Dorian cried. “Maker, Miraak, if anything happens to you…!”

“The world ends, I know,” Miraak sighed wearily. To his surprise, Dorian shook his head.

“That’s not why I worried,” Dorian said quietly, but there was no time to discuss this further. The Iron Bull was approaching, having checked in with his men, pleased to note no deaths and only minor injuries on their side.

“Hot damn, that was some impressive fighting! I’d been told all the mages out here were timid academics but not you! That was more like having a dreadnought docking in behind me! Or a dragon. Shit, that’s a dragon illusion! That’s hot. Really.”

“It’s more than an illusion, it also gives me superhuman strength,” Miraak purred, absolutely loving the praise and attention. “Lets me tap a little of a dragon’s power.”

“Yeah!” Bull laughed. “You’re Inquisition? Sign me the fuck up, they got any more like you?”

Miraak shook his head, practically preening.

“Just me,” Miraak said, ridiculously pleased at how this was going. This Qunari was so easily impressed. 

“Damn. Well, I don’t know what you look like under the mask, but you do something like that, you’re my type anyway. Say, does that thing let you breathe fire?”

“No, of course not,” Miraak said, watching his face fall for just a few seconds before delivering the killer comeback. “I can breathe fire without it. YOL!”

Fire billowed out over the sea, an expletive from Blackwall, gasps from the assorted Bull’s Chargers… and The Iron Bull actually whimpered.

“You can… that’s hot. Seriously. Taarsidath-an halsaam.”

Miraak stopped and tilted his head because Iron Bull’s accent had sounded a little like his own, and now there was this language and it actually sounded like Dovahzul… but wasn’t. Tah-zii-dah-thaarn-haalz-aam. Pack-soul-push-obedience-clap-serve – no. Meaningless. It wasn’t Dovahzul… but it sounded more like it than anything he’d heard here.

Yearning for a home he’d never see again. For his fellow Atmorans around him. For the constant switching between Atmoran and Dovahzul that happened in the Temple complex. Miraak mourned a world long dead, and this Qunari brought a little of that with him.

“That was your language. Qunarizul?”

“Qunlat,” Bull replied, sounding a little evasive. “Yeah. Yeah, it was. Zul’s a verb though, it goes on the start of the word, and you wouldn’t stick it on the end of a noun like that, it makes no sense. That voice magic you do, it’s a language, isn’t it? Sounded like Qunlat words! But they didn’t make sense. Yol’s not a word but it sounds like a case ending. Isslenus – sounds like it should mean something but doesn’t. Confusing as hell.”

“Isn’t it!” Miraak laughed. “What was it you said? Tah-zii-dah-thaarn-haalz-aam? Each one of those syllables is a word to me, you know. But together? In that order? They don’t mean anything! If you wish to simultaneously entertain me and give me a headache, keep talking in your own language. If I suddenly can’t breathe for laughing, you successfully hit on the profanities.”

Bull had started laughing already, slapping his thigh and roaring with laughter.

“Ah, that’s good, boss! You’re already pronouncing it better than most viddathari!”

Miraak lost it completely, because ‘my water-blue bound slave’ wasn’t even meaningless, it was just so wrong it was funny.

“You’re hired,” Miraak finally gasped. “Pack your things, get to Haven. Unless you want to stick around and be tonight’s entertainment.”

“MIRAAK!!!”

Miraak was suddenly aware of magicka rising. Dark magicka, making the air prickle and Miraak’s hair standing on end, and it wasn’t Miraak’s magic and unless there was a powerful, pissed-off apostate in the Chargers…

Miraak risked a glance sideways to see Dorian wreathed in black and purple magic, eyes glowing a viciously lurid purple and his face… he didn’t even know Dorian could even get that angry.

“Is your Vint friend all right,” Bull asked, hand reaching for his axe, warning note in his voice, and Miraak instinctively positioned himself between Bull and Dorian. No, no he wasn’t, but that problem was not going to be solved by violence.

“Lokaali?” Miraak asked, because his boyfriend was either being attacked by a demon or so fucked off his magic was out of control. Neither was good. “Lokaali, are you all right?”

“NO!” Dorian shouted, and lightning promptly shattered a nearby boulder into pieces. And then Dorian suddenly noticed his hands were glowing with a black purple light, and all the magical effects suddenly stopped.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian gasped. “I didn’t…”

And then he looked up at Miraak, eyes full of pain and sadness and… guilt?

“I’m sorry, that never normally happens… fine. Hire him if you must. It’s not my place to argue.”

Dorian turned away, hiding his face, and his voice sounded wretched and heartbroken and Miraak couldn’t think what was wrong. He’d just been making a new friend! Dorian was trying to encourage him to open up to people so why…

Tonight’s entertainment.

That could mean more than one thing.

“Dorian, wait! Don’t go.”

Dorian had been on the point of leaving, but he stopped… and then glanced at Varric, who nodded back in Miraak’s direction.

“You’ll regret it if you just walk away, Sparkler,” Varric told him, and Dorian nodded slowly and returned to Miraak’s side, not meeting his eyes… and not his usual cheerful outgoing self at all.

He didn’t close the gap between them, so Miraak took it upon himself to mend things. He was not losing this goddamn perfect man over a misunderstanding. He just wasn’t.

Stepping closer, he put an arm around Dorian, dropping down across his back for the more intimate waist hug.

“You are hired, Iron Bull,” Miraak said smoothly. “But I regret to inform you our association will be purely professional. I am already seeing someone, and we have no plans to open our relationship. This is Dorian Pavus, my dearly beloved. My apologies. You are not seeing him at his best. He’s normally the cheerful half of the couple.”

Miraak glanced down at Dorian, who was staring up at him, confused… and then the tiniest hint of a smile emerged and he nestled just that bit closer to Miraak.

They were definitely going to have to talk, but Miraak sensed he was forgiven.

Bull was also taking them both in, understanding dawning.

“Ohhhh. Yeah, course you’re seeing someone. Man who can breathe fire is never going to want for company if he wants it. No worries, boss. I can respect that. And here was me thinking your Vint friend just hated Qunari.”

“I’m not overly fond of them, no,” Dorian said firmly. “Seeing friends and lovers go off to fight your people and never come back will do that to you. But if you’re a Tal-Vashoth mercenary, I suppose I can live with it.”

Awkwardness on Bull’s part as he shifted nervously. What. What wasn’t he telling them.

“Yeah, about that,” Iron Bull said, hands on his hips. “Before we make this official, there’s something you should know. Might be useful. Might piss you off. But you should know in advance. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“It has nothing to do with a hundred healthy rivers, does it,” Miraak said wearily, fairly certain he was not going to like this.

“Isn’t that the Qunari secret police,” Dorian said, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They’re a Qunari order,” Bull explained. “They handle loyalty, security, information – spies in other words. Or rather… we’re spies.”

Dead silence for a few minutes while Miraak processed that his new friend was no Vashoth mercenary but a spy for the actual Qunari, but it was Dorian who broke it.

“Right. That’s that done, let’s go home. Deal is clearly off, come on Miraak, let’s move on to the next objective.”

He’d taken Miraak’s arm, attempting to lead him away but Miraak stopped because Kyne damn it, he couldn’t just leave it at that.

“Krosis. Forgive me. I claim no expert knowledge in the secret arts but… are spies not supposed to keep their identity secret from the organisation they are trying to infiltrate?”

“Yeah,” Bull said, grinning sheepishly. “But something called the Inquisition, you’d find out eventually. Best you hear it up front. Listen, the Ben-Hassrath are worried about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could hurt everyone. So they want me there to report on how you folk are handling it. I was ordered to join the Inquisition. Get close to the folks in charge. Send back reports. Nothing that would compromise your operations. Just enough to reassure people back home that you’re handling it.”

“And now you’ve met him, you can tell them we have a fire-breathing demigod leading the charge and will be quite all right, Miraak, come on, let’s go,” Dorian urged. Still Miraak did not move.

“It might be useful for the Qunari to decide they don’t need to invade to save us from ourselves,” Miraak said thoughtfully. “These reports. You run them by Leliana first. She’s our spymaster. We will be telling her who you really are. If she vetoes this idea, the contract is null and void.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Bull said, grinning. “Also, I get reports, from all over Orlais. They’re a mix of things, but a good spymaster can put it together and learn things. I can share them with Leliana in return.”

Information for information. Could work. He’d have to run it by Leliana, but she’d be better placed to assess the situation.

“Fine,” Miraak said, nodding. “Get yourselves to Haven. I’ll send word ahead. Make sure I don’t regret this, Iron Bull. Any hint of treachery or even compromising us, and friend or no friend, you will regret it.”

“No worries, boss,” Iron Bull said, nodding at him then Dorian, who was glaring at him and not even troubling to hide his hostility. “Hey! Krem! The Chargers just got hired!”

“But we just opened the casks, chief!” Krem, clearly the second in command, cried. “With axes!”

“Well find some way to seal them!” Bull called back as he headed back to his fighters to start packing up. “You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.”

“Marvellous,” Dorian said wearily. “A genuine bona fide Qunari spy who has a long line in anti-Tevinter banter all good to go. Miraak, seriously. I can only hope Leliana has more sense than you do.”

Perhaps. Or perhaps she’d decide this was useful. Either way, final decision wasn’t his problem and in the meantime he’d have himself a drinking buddy.

Who his boyfriend hated. And would likely have another episode of vul luvolg if Miraak unmasked for him, which would be good for no one, not least Dorian himself. Damn it all.

Next to him, he felt Dorian’s hand sneaking into his and squeezing it. An apology, maybe?

“Miraak, about earlier…”

Yes, almost certainly.

“Does that happen often?” Miraak had to ask. “And what was that anyway? It felt like death magic. Alok dilon.”

“It was,” Dorian said softly. “Summoning spirits, communing with the dead that way – something of a specialty of mine. Back home, it’s a respectable area of study. Not here, it turns out.”

Not exactly a respectable area of study back in the Dragon Cult era either, but they’d had them. Draugr-makers. Embalmers of the dead who’d then raise spirits to turn them into undead warriors to act as an additional line of defence. Not pretty but why waste human lives when you could bind Draugr. And then there’d been Durnehviir. A dragon getting in on the act. Miraak had been one of the priests who’d helped get him materials, although typically the dragon had done a lot of his research among the Reachmen who were all over anything dark magical. Miraak could hardly judge them for that – he’d made full use of their Embassy at Thrond.

“What is a respectable area of magical study round here,” Miraak said, rolling his eyes. “But you didn’t answer my first question. Does your magic normally get out of control like that?”

“No,” Dorian said softly. “Never. I… I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I just saw you and Bull flirting and I… I completely overreacted and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

 _I wasn’t even…_ Miraak hadn’t even been aware he’d _been_ flirting, just enjoying the attention. And if Dorian hadn’t expected it, how could he stop it happening again?

“Did you mean it though,” Dorian asked, glancing nervously up at him. “We’re exclusive? As in not seeing anyone else? I mean, we’ve never even discussed…”

Miraak hadn’t even been aware that was up for debate.

“Of course we are! Why would I want anyone else??”

Blackwall was already taking Varric by the arm and leading him carefully away, and the Chargers weren’t really close enough to listen, which was fine by Miraak. This conversation was already getting weird.

“You… are aware he was offering you sex, aren’t you,” Dorian said, looking at him as if he was a bit stupid. “No strings attached, we can go to my tent right now, sex. A consequence-free roll in the hay. And you turned that down? For me?”

“Yes,” Miraak said, wondering why this was such a hard concept to grasp. “Dorian, we are lovers, I’m not just going to abandon what we have for a little fun with someone else!”

Dorian looked down as he spoke, seeming despondent.

“We haven’t had sex ourselves yet,” Dorian said softly. “Maybe that’s the problem. Anyone else, I’d have taken to bed by now. It’s not inexperience holding me back, I have had far, far more than my fair share of casual encounters, believe me! But… there’s nothing casual about this, is there. There’s all these feelings in my head, dark feelings, frightening feelings! I thought not having sex would help but it isn’t, not as much as I thought, it just bought me a little breathing space. But I’m going to have to deal with it eventually, aren’t I? Either that, or risk losing you, or risk another episode like today’s. What if someone gets hurt next time? What if it’s you?? Maker, I… I don’t think I could live with myself if I hurt you.”

Memories of Saering falling, healing magic flaring but it was too late, Saering dead before Miraak got to him. And it had driven him mad for years… millennia in the end. It was only now, being out in the world again, free of the past and its burdens, that he could look back and realise what he’d become after Saering’s death.

He couldn’t go through that again… and he couldn’t let Dorian suffer either. Reaching up, he took the mask off and put an arm round Dorian, pulling him closer, to nestle against his chest.

“It isn’t going to happen, Dorian,” Miraak murmured. “You were angry and upset because you thought we meant something to each other, and then there am I enjoying someone else flirting with me, and it turns out you’re used to uncommitted relationships where that’s the norm and you just have to put up with it because nothing else is on offer. Whereas I was married for nearly a decade. I might like someone’s attention but when my heart is pledged, I do not look elsewhere. I am sorry, fariiki. Please believe me when I tell you you mean the world to me and I will have no other.”

Wordlessly, Dorian put his arms around him, holding him tight, and Miraak heard him sniffling. Oh no. 

“Dorian? Oh no. Dorian, don’t cry!”

Not good! Not good at all! Hastily, Miraak led Dorian over to a nearby rock, skirting hastily past the one Dorian’s magic had shattered, settling him down out of sight of the Chargers still on the beach, cuddling him.

“Dorian, I’m sorry. Whatever it was I said, I’m sorry!”

Dorian shook his head, wiping the tears away.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Dorian gasped. “I spent years working on these emotional defences. Years! All that time building up all those walls, because this never happens in Tevinter, you know. Men who like other men, we don’t have real relationships. We have encounters. Clandestine affairs. Specialised brothels. Body slaves. Married pillars of society in public, sordid kinky sex in private. We don’t ask for more, because there can never be any more. Expecting any more is a surefire way to get your heart broken. I’d become a past master at not getting attached. And then you come long, and within weeks of meeting you, I’m in pieces. All the defences, all the carefully cultivated indifference, and suddenly it’s gone. I tried to take things slowly. I tried pretending it wasn’t happening, that I could walk away if I wanted. But no. It’s too late. You’ve ruined me. You’ve ruined everything. How dare you, Miraak. How fucking dare you walk in and just offer me everything I ever wanted, without me even having to ask? How dare you act like I actually matter to you and make our relationship a priority. You bastard, Miraak. You complete and utter bastard.”

“You do matter, and you are a priority,” Miraak murmured, arm round Dorian as he held him close. What else could he say really? Sorry for taking care of him? Sorry for being honest? Sorry for loving him?

Miraak wasn’t sorry about any of those things, not remotely, and in that minute the guilt evaporated, because nothing in Dorian’s body language spoke of hatred. Just longing. Miraak remembered Redcliffe Castle, of healing Felix and Dorian telling him off for making him cry in public while simultaneously cuddling him.

This was the same, wasn’t it. Dorian suddenly having to deal with his emotions instead of laughing everything off, except now it was more so. No wonder he’d wanted to take things slowly. Too bad for him it wasn’t working and now he’d have to actually acknowledge how he felt. And Miraak decided Dorian needed more than anything to know how Miraak felt about him.

“I’m not going anywhere, fariiki,” Miraak murmured, cradling Dorian in his arms. “I am here for you. For anything you need. For as long as you need me. That time in your life is over now. No more anonymous encounters. No more pretending you don’t care or denying your feelings because you know they don’t feel the same, or they do but they’re going to leave you anyway. I will not leave you, and I do feel the same. Lokaal unslaad, fariiki. You’re in my heart forever.”

Dorian said nothing, clinging on to Miraak, weeping softly into Miraak’s chest and Miraak held him, rocking him in his arms, rubbing his back and making soothing little noises until Dorian finally composed himself, dried his eyes and let Miraak go, still not looking up at him.

“You utter bastard, Miraak,” Dorian finally said. “You are absolutely, without a doubt, the worst thing to ever happen to me.”

Miraak was beginning to get a sense of how this worked now. Reverse the meaning entirely and that was Dorian’s real feelings.

Miraak couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Dorian would likely not say it out loud for a long time to come, if ever. But his lokaal loved him back. However much difficulty he had with the idea.

“Also you’re hideous,” Dorian added for good measure. “And your smile revolts me. And you’re a terrible, terrible kisser and I don’t remotely want to kiss you right now.”

Miraak just laughed, reaching out for him and pulling an unresisting Dorian into his arms, and for a man who’d vehemently insisted he did not want to kiss Miraak, Dorian responded with enthusiasm as Miraak’s lips met his, kissing him back, moving with Miraak as Miraak fell back on to the grass, Dorian on top of him, hands everywhere and Miraak feeling his beloved boyfriend writhing on top of him, and this, this was very Sovngarde itself.

Finally, Miraak let him go, looking about him and realising how dark it was getting, the campfire visible but shadows enveloping everything else, night coming early in this craggy land.

“We should get back to camp,” Miraak decided, casting a magelight. “Before they send out a search party.”

Dorian nodded and made to follow him before crying out.

“Wait! Your mask!” 

Dorian snatched it off the ground, only gasping a little as he realised how heavy it actually was, and passed it back.

“Miraak, this thing weighs a ton and you’re just plastering it to your face every day?”

“Does it?” Miraak asked, amused. “I barely noticed.”

Dorian sighed, exasperated, which was a bit rich from someone who’d been tearfully telling him he hated him a few minutes earlier.

“Typical, not only do you tower over everyone else, but the muscles aren’t for show either and you’re freakishly strong. Miraak, this is appalling.”

Miraak responded by hooking the mask to his belt to free his hands up, carefully positioning his hands on Dorian’s waist and then lifting him off his feet, forcing Dorian to cling on to him, and carried his protesting boyfriend back to camp.

“I assume this just makes you despise me more,” Miraak said, really rather liking this.

“Utter, utter hatred,” Dorian said cheerfully. “You are in so much trouble.”

Miraak actually shivered, even though he was sure Dorian didn’t mean it like that.

“You, fariiki, are a gods damn tease sometimes,” Miraak growled. “We’re here. I’m putting you down now.”

Dorian slipped easily to the ground, shaking himself off and turning to enter camp… and then he saw several Inquisition soldiers and Scout Harding staring at them both and realised.

“Miraak, you’re not masked!”

Dorian turned in panic to see if his boyfriend was actually all right, and to his surprise, Miraak just looked indifferent.

“You were right, lokaali, it cuts off so much,” Miraak said, draping an arm around his shoulders. “Do you think your feelings would have got as out of control as they did earlier if you’d been able to see my face?”

“I… don’t know,” Dorian whispered, because now Miraak mentioned it, possibly the little micro-expressions might have helped.

“I will wear it less from now on,” Miraak decided, leading Dorian to sit by the fire. “I will keep it for combat and formal occasions, of course. But when I am off-duty? My loved ones should see my true face, should they not?”

He ran a thumb gently across Dorian’s lips, and Dorian just about stopped himself from nibbling on it. Not here. Not now. Not in front of everyone. Control yourself, Dorian. Ha. As if Miraak didn’t erode that with every word out of his lips and every little expression on that beautiful face. Which he’d now be seeing a lot more of if Miraak kept his word about unmasking.

Maker help him. Dorian was doomed. Completely and utterly doomed. If he knew what was good for him, he’d flee into the night now and never look back.

Dorian knew he’d do no such thing. Miraak the Dragonblooded had ruined him for other men. No matter how far he ran, whoever he bedded, all he’d be able to think about was strong arms around him, blonde hair flowing in the wind, ice-blue eyes piercing his very soul, and the voice that could get him hard without even trying whispering words in his ear, words of love and belonging and Dorian not having to choose between happiness and acceptance.

 _You’re in my heart forever too, amatus._ Not a word he could say out loud, not yet. But that didn’t mean Dorian didn’t feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are such saps, I stg. Next chapter, things get interesting. Very interesting indeed. I axed a couple of minor character interactions, and replaced them with... someone else. Someone rather more of a concern for Miraak and Dorian both.


	9. The Last Dragonborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miraak's in Thedas to make a fresh start, bury his past, be a better person and build a new life. Too bad some things just won't stay buried, especially when someone has unfinished business and the resources of a magical kingdom at their disposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the plot picks up! I booted a few NPC encounters and replaced them with... you'll see. Readers of my other fics will recognise a few people, although two of them aren't actually OCs. I will explain more in the endnotes.

The encounter with the bandits proved as predictable as Dorian had thought, the only surprise being that they were an Andrastian offshoot group called the Blades of Hessarian and had a code… and it was possible to craft a serpentstone amulet called Mercy’s Crest and challenge their leader for dominance.

Miraak spent an entire morning crafting one before heading for their headquarters, and the leader’s face as he realised the dragon-silhouetted man before him was the same height and build he was was something Dorian would treasure for a very long time. 

Ten minutes later, and it was all over, and the dogs had given them more trouble than the leader had. The Blades were cheerfully pledging loyalty to Miraak, who seemed to take it as his due but would later enthuse to Dorian that he had his own group of fighters! Outside the Inquisition if need be! Exciting, no?

Exciting indeed. The rest of the trip paled in comparison, being mostly trudging over peak and valley in search of traces of the Wardens and finding only that they’d been here, looking for one of their own, then moved on. 

And then there was the cave at the end of the river, home to a suspected Fade rift which turned out to be all too real. The first wave of demons was exercise enough… but the second wave was fiercer. Wraiths that seemed hardier than previously encountered ones, terror demons that were faster somehow, and two despair demons casting bonechilling frost spells.

Dorian’s barrier expired at the worst possible time, right as an Immolate explosion drew both demons’ attention to him, and twin ice spells sent him flying, while torrents of ice magic drained his strength.

He was vaguely aware of Miraak screaming his name, and then a shout, something like “GOL HAH!” and then he passed out.

He woke to magic again, but not ice. Warmth, golden light, rejuvenation, the most delightful little golden chimes tinkling away… and Miraak gasping his name, telling him to wake up, please wake up, Dorian please.

Dorian opened his eyes to see Miraak’s mask gleaming above, and felt vaguely disappointed he couldn’t see his real face.

_Your real face is so pretty, Miraak. I could stare at you for hours._

Miraak stopped casting, and ripped the mask off, hair in a state but Miraak irritably brushing it aside, no longer caring.

“You’re all right,” Miraak gasped. Dorian nodded, reaching out and sitting up, Blackwall on his other side while Varric passed him a potion.

“Get that down you, Sparkler,” Varric said, not making a joke for once. “You look like you need it. Hell, we thought we’d lost you at one point.”

“It was a hard fight and no mistake,” Blackwall said, patting his back. “But your man there got us through it. Shouted at one of the demons and got it to turn on its friends. Didn’t like to ask how. But we won, the rift’s sealed and none of us died. That’s the important thing.”

Miraak silently took Dorian into his arms, just holding him close, and Dorian realised his fearless demigod boyfriend was shaking. Literally shaking. 

Apparently Dorian had had a very lucky escape, but there were upsides. He got carried out of the cave to their waiting mounts. Carried! Then doted on back at camp where they spent a day just letting him recover and Miraak barely left his side.

Dorian could get to like this boyfriend lark, but the haunted look in Miraak’s eyes stopped him. Heavens, had the situation been that bad?

“Yes, it was that bad, yes you nearly died, no I cannot go through losing another one,” Miraak said tersely, hand gripping Dorian’s. “I was widowed once. I lost my mind, my heart to grief and fell to darkness. I cannot lose you as well.”

He had briefly mentioned he’d been married back in Solstheim. Dorian wondered what his wife had been like. He must have loved her dearly. Dorian had assumed she’d passed of old age and Miraak was mourning her death along with many others, but from the sounds of it, he’d been widowed before he ever turned to demon-trafficking. And had not handled it well.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dorian asked and Miraak flinched.

“No,” he said firmly. “Dorian, it’s enough to know I’m never going to unsee it. Just as it will take me many days to unsee you being impaled by ice spears and not getting up. Just… stay near me. Remind me you’re not dead. In time it will fade. But for now… fariiki, you know what you mean to me.”

Dorian knew. Miraak was incapable of hiding his feelings and it was right there in every action. Taking it slowly?? Miraak was already acting like his husband. A role Dorian really wasn’t ready for. Even if he desired it greatly.

But the caretaking was nice, even if the overprotectiveness was definitely going to get old after a while. Not yet though. Not yet.

“Niid faas, fariiki,” Dorian said cheerfully, resting his head against his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He’d not expected Miraak to stare incredulously at him before dissolving into laughter.

“What?” Dorian cried. “What’s so funny?”

Miraak’s laughter just intensified, tears rolling down his face as he roared with laughter. Really, this was just offensive at this point.

“I’m trying to help you feel at home!” Dorian cried. “I thought hearing Dovahzul from another might help!”

That set off more giggling, but Miraak did attempt to pull himself together.

“Your accent,” Miraak finally said. “Oh gods, your accent. I can’t, Dorian. I can’t.”

“What’s wrong with my accent??” Dorian cried. He’d pronounced it right, hadn’t he? Dorian really couldn’t see the problem.

Miraak just shook his head, drying his eyes.

“Your accent’s adorable,” Miraak finally said. “That’s the problem. You’re not meant to sound adorable. Dovahzul is the language of the mighty Dov, lords of the sky, Thurre-se-lok. They have wingspans that can block out the sun, shake the ground when they land and breathe fire. Their Thu’um is not adorable. Yours is… yours is cute.”

“Cute??” Dorian managed to get out, knowing he was definitely blushing now. Embarrassment or anger, he wasn’t sure. A bit of both. “I am not cute!”

Miraak just put an arm round him and kissed the top of his head, holding him close for a very affectionate cuddle.

“Keep practising, fariiki,” Miraak said, amused. “Dein kostir. Try and remember you’re a terrifying fire-breather. Maartaas Thu’um-se-Yol.”

“I can’t even breathe fire!” Dorian protested.

“All right then, terrifying death mage,” Miraak sighed. “Maartaas nahgahdinok.”

Dorian briefly wondered if he should try and explain that necromancy was nothing like flashy fire magic, it was far subtler and more cunning than that, and then he remembered who he was talking to, and that subtlety just didn’t apply. Perhaps that was the problem.

“So, maartaas is terrifying,” Dorian said thoughtfully, filing all this away. “Yol must mean fire, it’s what you shout to breathe fire. Thu’um – that’s the Shouting. So, does se mean of? Breath of fire?”

“Hi mindos nel,” Miraak said, actually seeming to approve. “You learn fast. Keep trying. Dein kostir.”

That would be a lot easier if he had a terrifying deep voice like Miraak’s that practically throbbed when he spoke. True, he seemed to rein that in when they were alone or just talking casually, but if he was speaking more publicly or wished to make a point, the reverberation sent chills down Dorian’s spine.

Needless to say, he wasn’t telling Miraak this. Miraak did not need to know he could probably make Dorian come from talking to him. He was insufferable enough as it was. 

Still, learning Dovahzul might be useful. Someone needed to document all this! A whole new language and culture and the Thu’um as well! This couldn’t just be allowed to die out with Miraak. 

Dorian cuddled up next to his handsome, muscular, fierce, passionate adorable boyfriend. Not just the demigod hero who was going to save the world. Not just Dorian’s beloved. But also a new and fascinating area of study. 

Yes. Dorian was definitely keeping Miraak around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“I’m perfectly healthy, Miraak!” Dorian protested. “I am quite capable of holding my own in a fight! You don’t need to leave me behind!”

“You aren’t coming, Dorian,” Miraak said firmly. “I can’t… Dorian, I still keep seeing you on the ground. I _cannot_ go through that again.”

“You can’t just confine me to Haven forever,” Dorian said firmly. “You might need me out there!”

“I know,” Miraak said, rubbing his forehead. “But right now, for this one, you aren’t coming. I will be fine.”

Dorian knew, but it still rankled. He’d got used to Miraak around. Used to being able to kiss him goodnight and fall asleep with Miraak next to him keeping him warm. Used to waking up in the morning for a cuddle. Sometimes a little more than that. 

Hard to go back to sleeping alone now they were back in Haven, and harder still to accept Miraak heading off on another mission so soon without him. But Inquisition soldiers were in trouble – not only in trouble but captive, taken prisoner by some Avvar who wanted to challenge the Herald to a fight for dominance.

Miraak had not been able to let that stand, and Dorian would not have begrudged him that for the world. But he would have wanted to be there to help, and he wasn’t. Miraak had taken Blackwall, Varric and Vivienne. Vivienne! Apparently she had some enchanted pavilion with all the comforts of home and it was no trouble to get a privacy screen and an extra bed stuck in there, my dear.

Fasta vass, did he need to get jealous of her now?? Only Miraak’s reassurances she wasn’t remotely interested in him over her rich Orlesian duke had helped there. 

So Dorian had given in and let him go and now he was lying back on his bed, in the room he shared with Solas, staring at the ceiling, no idea what to do with himself now. Was this it now. Stuck in Haven, every day like the last, slowly rotting away waiting for Miraak to come back?

Dorian did not do pining. And he hated being reduced to this. He’d spent so much time encouraging Miraak to befriend other people, he’d forgotten that perhaps he should build a few ties of his own. 

“Ah. You’re still here. Excellent! May I have a word?”

Solas. Who seemed absolutely fine with few if any social ties, but apparently seemed to want to talk now. To him.

“Is there a problem, Solas? Miraak assures me I don’t snore so it can’t be that.”

Not that he’d been worried about that, of course.

“I will never get used to you just using his name like that,” Solas said, shaking his head as he sat on the bed. “You are about the only one who does, you know. Even Sera generally uses epithets. I don’t think anyone’s ordered this, but his name’s acquiring a tone of reverence. It’s not spoken lightly. I can’t see him objecting, but I wonder what it’s like for him, being someone who everyone treats with kid gloves. That sort of power can become addictive if you’re not careful. If everyone treats you like a god, not only do you start to believe it, your ability to relate to other people becomes impaired as a result. Miraak’s was already impaired due to his imprisonment in the Fade. It’s not good for him to remain isolated now he’s free. It’s good he has you to talk to. You speak of sleeping next to him – does that mean you’ve seen him with the mask off?”

“Yes of course,” Dorian said irritably. “I’m not the only one, you know, he was unmasking fairly freely by the end of the last mission. He says he’s going to wear it less, although I did notice he’s not doing that here. I’ll have to ask him when he gets back.”

“He’s certainly attached to it,” Solas said thoughtfully. “Did he tell you its significance? It has magical power, I can tell that.”

“It’s a badge of office, or at least it was in his long-dead home culture,” Dorian said, eyeing Solas carefully. “Now it’s serving the same function again. But he’s working on wearing it less during his off-duty hours. He’s aware it’s cutting him off from others and he is working on it. Unless you just wanted to know what he looks like. In which case I can confirm beauty radiates from his face and the mask is there to ensure the rest of the world is not blinded by it.”

Laughter from Solas.

“That is something I cannot judge,” Solas said, amused. “I am rather more resistant to the charms of human males. But this isn’t actually what I wanted to ask. There was actually something I wished for Miraak to look at. So far, he’s not been that bothered about it. But it is something of value. Ancient elven warding devices that can measure and stabilise the Veil. If we activate enough of them, we could help prevent new rifts forming. I have detected one in the Hinterlands. I was hoping he’d be willing to investigate with me. Would you be able to help talk him into it? He listens to you.”

Here it was. Dorian fucking knew it. Lover of the Herald, and already the requests to use his influence were starting.

“No,” Dorian snapped. “I’m not doing it. I’m his boyfriend not his… we agreed to keep Inquisition operations out of our relationship as far as possible, excepting missions I’m involved in personally. He tells me things if he wants to, and answers questions if he can, but I don’t pry and I expect he can’t tell me everything. If I need something, I’ll submit it at the war table like anyone else. And if you need something, perhaps you should do the same!”

Solas sat back, blinking… but he didn’t seem angry.

“You’ve set some boundaries. Impressive. They don’t bother you?”

“They were my idea,” Dorian said firmly. “The Herald needs to be above reproach. He needs to be incorruptible and more importantly, seen to be such. I will not have people think I’m using him for his power and influence. I’m not. I’m with him because… because I care.”

Solas said nothing, but he seemed to approve. Not that Dorian needed his approval, of course. But it was nice to have.

“Perhaps I will put in a request at the war table, then,” Solas said smoothly. “It is after all potentially useful to our cause. Perhaps one of his advisors will see reason. And I suppose Miraak does not need to go in person. I merely need soldiers to accompany me. Maybe another mage to assist. Always useful to have another pair of eyes. I had thought Miraak would have some useful insights but I’m sure there are others who have knowledge.”

Most likely – the Inquisition wasn’t short of mages, after all. And then it occurred to Dorian that he was a mage. And not one presently required to do anything for the Inquisition. He had sufficient money to fund a journey. He had a horse. And a fine staff. And could definitely shamelessly name-drop his way into any Inquisition camp.

 _Miraak won’t like this._

Miraak wasn’t there, and last time Dorian checked, he didn’t need Miraak’s permission to come and go. He’d notify the Council of where he was going so no one worried. It’d be fine!

“I’ll go with you,” Dorian said, coming to a decision. “We don’t need to wait for Himself to sign off on it. We can just investigate! I’ll tell Leliana where we’re going. I think she likes me.”

“Ha, you think?” Solas laughed. “Well, if you say so. Thank you, I would be happy to accept. I suppose your knowledge could be useful too. Much Tevinter magical knowledge was taken from ancient elves, you may notice things.”

Ah yes, casual reminders of his people’s sins. Marvellous. Dorian was already regretting this, in fact if it was just him and Solas on the road…

“Maybe we’ll ask some of the others if they want to come as well,” Dorian said thoughtfully. “Sera might be useful. And we’ll need Cassandra. Someone intimidating to hide behind if things go south.”

“Indeed. And that Qunari too. The Iron Bull. His people are brutes and he’s no exception, but he’s certainly good for distracting the enemy.”

A bad idea in a very different way, but if Miraak wasn’t there for Bull to flirt with, Dorian supposed he could put up with it. And so a plan was born. Who needed the Herald anyway?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maker, but Dorian missed him. Sleeping on the ground with Solas sharing the tent was just not the same. It was cold. It was uncomfortable. No amatus to cuddle. No big strong Dragonborn with big strong shoulders to rest his head on. No sneaking off behind a tree to kiss the Herald of Andraste, and yes they could do that in the tent but where was the fun in that? Also being pinned to a tree by six foot five inches of solid muscle was exhilarating. Not that Dorian was exclusively a bottom by any means – this relationship might be easier if he was. But Dorian had a boyfriend strong enough to pick him up and cast him about like a ship in a storm and damned if he wasn’t going to take advantage of that.

Said boyfriend wasn’t here to take advantage of and Dorian missed him. Still, missing him out on the road was preferable to being stuck back in Haven.

Even if it did mean putting up with the Iron Bull. Who seemed to be making a point of seeking Dorian out. They’d got the camp set up, Dorian was poking at the cooking pot, and here was Bull, sitting himself down next to him. Marvellous.

“Did you want something, Iron Bull?” Dorian sighed. “I don’t have any Dovahzul phrases to entertain you with. No one else speaks that language any more but him.”

“Huh. No one? Not at all?”

“No one,” Dorian repeated firmly, turning his attention back to dinner. Iron Bull was not to be dissuaded.

“Huh. That’s… that can’t be good for him. Did his entire people get wiped out or something? We don’t know a damn thing about him, you know. Miraak sounds like it should be a Qunlat name but it isn’t. We thought he might be Orlesian what with the mask, but he’s not. That mask is nothing like an Orlesian one and his accent’s weird. There’s this… reverb on his voice. It’s always there in the background, some weird power. I don’t know, I don’t know shit about magic, but it’s to do with that Voice magic he does, isn’t it.”

“Perceptive, aren’t you,” Dorian said, eyeing Bull suspiciously. “Well, you’re not getting any information off me. I protect my boyfriend’s privacy. He doesn’t need his life story going all the way to Par Vollen.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t tell them all of it!” Bull protested. “But the Ben-Hassrath are going to want to know something. All we got right now is fell out of the Fade, was some demon’s prisoner, now he’s just walked into the Inquisition inner council. Don’t get me wrong, I know he deserves a bit of respect. I heard about the things he’s done since he’s been with you guys. He sounds like he’s doing the right thing. Still. You can do the right thing for the wrong reasons. What about you. Do you trust him?”

“Obviously,” Dorian snapped. “I wouldn’t be going out with him if I didn’t!”

“I get that,” Bull said, softening his tone. “But you wouldn’t be the first to get hurt by their partner. What makes you trust him. What makes you sure he’s not lying to you.”

“He’s not – look, he’s told me a lot about who he is, where he came from. You wouldn’t make up the sort of thing he’s told me!” Dorian sighed. “I know he’s not told me everything, but that’s mostly because I haven’t asked! About the only thing he’s refused pointblank to talk about is how his wife died. He says it was traumatic. Having seen how he reacted to me getting injured, I can believe it. He’s sincere. And not dishonest by nature. Not perfect by any means. Overprotective, overconfident, thinks he’s invulnerable. But… he’s trying, Bull. He told me once that after we helped sort out the damage Alexius was inflicting on time, he could feel the… he calls them the vennesetiid, but it’s the threads of time. He can sense them. He could tell Alexius had mangled them, and after we dealt with Alexius, he could feel them whole again… and he told me they felt happy. Which made _him_ feel happy. And he’s been feeling happy about himself ever since. He told me this in the tent one night. Said that for the first time in his life, he feels like he’s doing the right thing. That he spent the first twenty years of his adult life with no mentors, no guidance, because he was brighter and more skilled than everyone else, and no one was brave enough to challenge him and it ended in disaster. But now he’s here and we’re all figuring it out together and he’s got a job to do. He’s finally able to use all that power to do the right thing. And he’s happy. Which makes me happy. He’s had so many horrible things happen to him, and while he’ll say he had most of it coming, that doesn’t make it all right. He had no one to tell him what he was, he ended learning the truth about what he was from a demon! I’m no master of the Voice but I do know how that feels. No one gave me the guidance I needed either.”

“Yeah, and you never ended up stuck in the Fade,” Bull pointed out. “Don’t let him off the hook if his problems were all his fault.”

“He’s saving the world,” Dorian said pointedly. “Whatever he’s done, he’s atoning now. It’s not my job to judge him. I’m the one who takes care of him, the one he can be himself around. I’m not the only one he unmasks for, I know. But I was the first one he chose to. Whatever else he is, he trusts me. And I trust him.”

Bull was nodding, single eye seeming to understand. 

“Don’t know what the Ben-Hassrath will make of that, but it sounds like the two of you have got a good thing going on there. Good for you. Don’t suppose the smoking hot sex with your smoking hot Herald hurts either.”

They hadn’t had it yet. But damned if Dorian was telling him that.

“Even if we never had sex, I would still adore him,” Dorian said, gazing into the fire, involuntary smile on his face. “He’s the most affectionate man I ever met.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Bull said quietly. “He was quick enough to set things right with you after you managed to blow up a rock. I mean, it was impressive. But, er, do you do that often?”

“No,” Dorian whispered. “That’s the sad thing. First time it’s ever happened, and it was because I was afraid Miraak was going to leave me for some man he’s only just met. Ridiculous, I know, I’ve had far more justification to feel that way in the past and barely reacted at all.”

“Because this one’s important,” Bull said, gazing into the distance. “This one is the real deal. This one is making you feel things. And it’s about going to kill you to lose. Yeah. I get it. Not from personal experience. We don’t do romantic relationships under the Qun. But I’ve seen enough of you people go just about crazy over your lovers. I guess it’s not my problem. I’m not getting between you two any time soon. You keep your magic under control, I’ll let you and the Herald do your thing, we’re all good.”

Dorian really shouldn’t be taking advice on his love life from a Qunari spy, and really it was unnerving how quickly he was seeing Dorian and Miraak’s relationship for what it was. Dorian didn’t really like thinking just how involved he’d got how quickly. But Bull wasn’t wrong. Miraak had the power to break his heart, and Dorian did not like that at all.

Thankfully Sera chose that moment to intervene, with questions for Bull.

“Hey! Iron Bull! You’re a Qunari, right? Got a question for you! What are your women like? I mean, are they all big and strong like you?”

Laughter from Iron Bull.

“Shit, yeah! They’re terrifying! Any one of them could break you like a twig!”

Sera gasped, eyes lighting up.

“Wow!!! That’s… wow!”

Someone had a size kink, didn’t they. Dorian could hardly blame her. He had a boyfriend that could pick him up and carry him and was still wrapping his head around the idea.

Dorian missed him. Another lonely night in the tent tonight with Miraak out in the Fallow Mire without him. Not that he wanted to be out somewhere called the Fallow Mire, of course. But he missed his boyfriend very much.

Never mind. Investigate this artefact in the Hinterlands. See if it really could stabilise the Veil. Then go home and maybe see Miraak there. Sounded like a plan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you for sharing your tent, Vivienne. It is appreciated.”

As she’d promised, Vivienne had put a wooden screen down the middle and a separate bed and dresser for him on the other side. How this packed up, Miraak had no idea but Vivienne assured him she had it in hand.

“It’s no trouble, darling. We can’t have the Herald of Andraste bunking down in some soldier’s tent, can we?”

No, no they couldn’t. All the same, luxury aside, it didn’t have Dorian. And despite Miraak having once fantasised as fiercely about Vivienne as he had about Dorian, he didn’t feel that way about her now. He liked her company and that was all. Even if she did regard the Thu’um as a little too direct for her tastes.

“Grub’s up!” Varric called from outside. “Tentacles and Iron Lady, are you joining us or eating in the tent?”

“You’ll be eating in private of course, won’t you, my dear.”

Vivienne assuming he’d wear the mask constantly, which was sweet of her but really not necessary, and Miraak decided he might as well get this over with. Taking the mask off, he laid it aside and stepped out from behind the screen.

“Privacy is overrated,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to conceal his amusement. Vivienne glanced up sharply, blinked and her expertly plucked eyebrows shot up.

Hah. Good. See what you turned down! Miraak bet he was prettier than her duke any day.

“Dorian has been telling me I need to wear the mask less,” Miraak said, grinning. “He says it is cutting me off from human interaction. And he is right, so I am wearing it less. I travel in it but for camp? It’s not necessary.”

“I… see,” Vivienne said, still staring. “It’s… so that’s what you look like. Curious! Well now. I shall now have something to report back to interested acquaintances. My dear, you would not believe the ridiculous stories some of them are telling.”

“They can’t be worse than the ones Sera has been telling, and Dorian knows what I look like and will still tell anyone who’ll listen that I am some sort of desire demon in human form who is far too beautiful for mere mortals to look upon. I’m not a desire demon,” Miraak added quickly in case anyone got the wrong idea.

“No, I don’t think you are,” Vivienne said, smiling as she got to her feet. “Well my dear, if you’re unmasking more often, I’m honoured to be one of those you’re choosing to reveal yourself to. I’ve lived in Orlais for nearly thirty years. I know the symbolism. You unmask when you’re not being the Herald, just Miraak.”

He didn’t tell her Miraak was as much a contrived identity as the Herald, but it had been his for so long, he didn’t even know how to let that one go. Maybe he didn’t. It was who he was now. His deadname was just that, dead.

Maybe he’d tell Dorian. See how that went. He’d certainly have an opinion.

But Dorian wasn’t here, and no cuddling by the fire for him tonight. He hoped Dorian was all right and not lonely without him. Haven might not be a happy place for Dorian on his own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was a lovely day in the Hinterlands, and the artefact turned out to be off the East Road. First sign of trouble was the Inquisition agent who warned them all off going any further. Bandits… or maybe not.

“They might not be bandits?” Dorian asked, frowning. Last thing he needed was Venatori out here. Again.

“Bandits wait till you’re vulnerable then attack from behind. This lot attack early, give you time to run. They’re either stupid or they’re not bandits. And they’re too well-armed for stupid.”

Marvellous. Dorian turned to the four he’d brought with him.

“So. We have a bandit problem. Who may be more than they seem. We can all deal with that, can’t we?”

“Sure thing, Vint-Boss,” Bull said, smirking. Cassandra rolled her eyes at him.

“Dorian is not officially in charge of anything in the Inquisition, Iron Bull,” Cassandra said tersely. “The only reason he is taking any kind of authority on this mission is because it was his request. Although it was also Solas’s idea, I am informed.”

“We’re after elven artefacts, but ridding the world of bandits is an acceptable objective,” Solas said calmly.

“Elven artefacts, eh?” the agent said thoughtfully. “Something else you should know then. There was a woman here not long ago. Investigating the bandits. She was one of them Qunari like him. Except she didn’t have horns. But she was really tall and had pointy ears and gold skin, so don’t know what else she could have been. Don’t suppose I know what the women look like.”

All eyes on Iron Bull, who shrugged.

“They have horns too, but there’s some who don’t. She could have been one. I guess we’ll see when we find her. Wait, she just went in on her own? You didn’t stop her?”

“I told her about the bandits, same as I told you,” the agent said, shrugging. “She just thanked me and said she’d be fine, she was an old hand at sorting out bandits. So I let her get on with it.”

This did not allay Bull’s worries.

“We should get after her. We can’t let this woman face off bandits on her own.”

Raised eyebrow from Cassandra.

“I don’t see how her gender affects her ability to fight,” Cassandra said, note of warning in her voice. “But she is alone. We should find her.”

So off they went, and the first sign of trouble was the charred bandit corpse. Then three others, frozen solid. 

“Ah shit, she’s a mage,” Bull sighed. “A Tal-Vashoth mage. Get ready for anything. Some of them are worse than twenty bandits.”

“To do this to four bandits, she would have to be one extremely powerful mage,” Solas said, sounding almost in awe. “I’m not even sure I could cast the frost spell that did this.”

“Five bandits,” Cassandra said, indicating another lying at the base of a tree, looking like he’d been impaled. “The wounds on this one – it’s like the sword that did it appeared inside him. Then vanished.”

“Is that possible?” Dorian had to ask Solas, who nodded.

“Yes. Theoretically. It’s a lost elven art, summoning bound weapons from the Fade. How did a Tal-Vashoth learn it? Even the Dalish don’t know! I only ever saw memories in the Fade!”

“Oh crap. Crap, crap, crap!” Sera gasped, arrow to her bow and looking wildly around her. “There’s a scary mage round here who did that?? To five people on her own?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said firmly, drawing her sword. “And we’re finding her. She has questions to answer.” She glanced at Sera’s obvious anxiety and her expression softened.

“Do not fear, Sera. I am a Seeker of the Truth. I can stop her magic if required.”

“Good. I mean, that’s good, innit?” Sera said faintly. “I mean, yeah, that’s great, you stand in front of me and I’ll just shoot arrows. Over here. Far away from her… magic.”

Sera had noticed just how much ground the frost spell covered and whimpered a bit. Dorian made a mental note to cover her with a barrier first. This mage was clearly dangerous.

Round the corner, and there she was, outside some elven ruins… fighting off some demons. Without a staff. Maker, what was her mana pool like?? And behind her… what was that? Some sort of purple storm demon?

Fire from her hands and the despair demon in front of her died screaming… but then a terror demon upended her, sending her flying.

The woman cursed in some language Dorian had never heard in his life but it sounded just adorable. She’d probably cursed out that demon’s mother as a syphilis ridden whore and it sounded like little tinkling bells. Still, they should probably help her. Bull was already charging in, Cassandra after him, and Solas was raising barriers. Time to rescue a damsel in distress. Dorian threw a fire mine down and ran to help the woman to her feet while the demons were distracted.

“Hello! I’m Dorian. We’re helping. Are you all right?”

She took his hand and got to her feet, and while Dorian was no expert on attractive women, this one was rather striking. Taller than he was! Might even be as tall as Miraak! But as the scout had said, she had glorious golden skin, eyes to match and red hair falling to her shoulders. Not carrot coloured. Literal red. And what was that thing on her head? Some sort of crown with… was that lyrium. It was, wasn’t it? Glowing blue lyrium. Must be worth a fortune!

Who on earth was she?

“I’m fine,” the woman gasped, brushing her unusual brown tunic down. Some sort of belted knee-length thing, with some sort of throw round her shoulders with woollen fronds. It looked warm. Dorian wished he had a set that warm. “Gods but I hate those things. Are those your friends?”

Odd accent. Not like Bull’s, not really. Also she seemed to have to wait a couple of seconds before replying. Was she deaf maybe? No, he didn’t think so, and yet…

“Yes… sort of,” Dorian admitted. “We’re with the Inquisition. We were looking for elven artefacts, but we have a sideline in killing bandits. Except you seem to have got there first. Well done. Saved us a job.”

“Stop right there!” Cassandra. Marvellous. “Lower your weapon, mage!”

The woman closed her eyes, growling under her breath.

“Local mage law enforcement, how marvellous,” the woman sighed. “Look, all I’ve done is root out some bandits and fight some demons. Am I under arrest? If not, I’m off.”

Cassandra had her sword out, eyeing the strange mage suspiciously, and then she glanced at Iron Bull. 

“Well? Is she one of your people?”

“Nah. She’s never been under the Qun in her life. No lip scars.”

The woman raised her fingers to her lips, mouthing ‘lip scars??’ Dorian didn’t have the heart to explain Saarebas to her if she’d never seen one.

“But she could be Vashoth. Maybe,” Bull said, frowning. “Fancy outfit for a merc though.”

“I have a rich husband,” the woman said, glaring at him. “And my line of work has been extremely profitable over the years. Look, I’m not actually the bad guy here? I just killed some bandits and some demons, in self-defence I might add. Is that illegal now? Or are you about to drag me off to the Circles you don’t have any more.”

Smug little smirk on her face, and Dorian decided he rather liked her.

“Have you got a name?” Dorian asked. “Someone with abilities like yours should be famous.”

“I do my best work behind the scenes,” she said, knowing little smile on her face. “But yes. I’m…”

She looked straight at Bull for a few seconds, blinked and then turned back to him.

“Ataasha,” she announced. “My name’s Ataasha.”

Had she just come up with an alias on the spot. Dorian glanced at Bull, who’d burst out laughing.

“Your parents never called you She-Dragon!”

Ataasha’s grin widened.

“They really liked dragons,” she told him. “I have to say, it does suit me. So. You were after elven artefacts, so Dorian here was telling me. Mind if I tag along? I always was interested in elven history.”

Solas had stepped forward, his interest caught, and he was watching her, fascinated.

“I think we should bring her along,” he said, smiling. “She’s clearly a powerful mage. Her input might be invaluable.”

“A mage who clearly summoned that,” Cassandra said, pointing at the storm demon. “A demon whose like I’ve never seen before.”

“It’s bound,” Ataasha said firmly. “It’s perfectly safe. Unless you attack it or me. I suggest you don’t.”

Cassandra didn’t like this and Sera liked this even less, and Bull didn’t seem keen either… but he seemed the most persuadable.

“We could definitely do with another mage,” Dorian said. “And she wasn’t doing anything wrong, other than being a mage in public. She certainly wasn’t doing anything we weren’t planning on doing.”

Suspicion in everyone’s eyes, but even Cassandra had to admit it was true.

“Ugh. Fine,” Cassandra snapped, sheathing her sword. “But we will be watching you, mage.”

“You do that if it makes you feel better,” Ataasha said, sounding an awfully lot like Vivienne in that moment, and the fake smile was definitely trademark De Fer. But she followed along anyway, and when the entrance to the nearby ruins turned out to be blocked, Ataasha’s magic cleared it with no trouble.

“You really do know what you’re doing, don’t you?” Dorian said, having to admire her skills if nothing else. Ataasha nodded, smiling proudly.

“I do! Years of practice,” Ataasha said, instinctively casting a spell as she stepped into the ruins, a small ball of white light that glimmered in the darkness, lighting the place up.

It looked just like the magelight spell Miraak liked to use. Dorian had seen it often enough while they were camping. Odd.

“I say, Ataasha,” Dorian said, thinking things over, the reminder of Miraak reminding him of something else. “Do you know any Qunlat?”

“A little, why,” Ataasha said, surprised. “Don’t tell me you know any.”

“Excellent, can I try something? A little linguistic quirk? It turns out Qunlat and my boyfriend’s native language sound very very similar, except they’re not, and if you speak my boyfriend’s language to a Qunlat speaker, they start laughing. Can I test that on you?”

“I suppose?” Ataasha said, smiling faintly. “Boyfriend, huh? I’m not surprised. You look the type.”

Dorian had no idea how to take that, so he elected not to respond. Instead, he racked his brains for a few Dovahzul phrases. Thankfully, once Miraak had got over laughing at Dorian’s accent, he’d happily obliged with a few basic lessons.

“Drem Yol Lok! Zu’u Dorian. Zu’u sahrot nahgahdinok. Los hi?”

She didn’t laugh, although Iron Bull’s shoulders were heaving in silent laughter.

“Who did you say your boyfriend was?” Ataasha said faintly. Ah. He shouldn’t have mentioned a boyfriend, still less tried Dovahzul on her. Now he’d have to confess.

“This is awkward,” Dorian admitted. “Look, this isn’t something I like to boast about, you understand, and we don’t publicise it widely, but it’s not secret either. It’s the Herald. As in Herald of Andraste. Miraak Dovahkiin. We went on an adventure together, got lost in time – don’t ask, I found out the terrifying Dragonborn had many many hidden depths, joined the Inquisition so as to see more of him, and then he asked me out for dinner. And we’ve been together ever since! He’s a lovely man underneath it all. Don’t tell anyone.”

Ataasha was staring at him as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“ _Miraak_ has a boyfriend??” she gasped. “What… I mean… seriously? You’re going out with him. Willingly?”

“Yes, willingly!” Dorian cried, feeling a bit offended by this. “Even with the mask, there was a lot to admire, and then he took it off and… it’s usually considered very impolite for anyone but a lover to stare at someone’s face and stroke their cheekbones, so I happily said yes to him so as to be able to do it more conveniently. He really does have gorgeous cheekbones. Sera, stop pretending to vomit.”

“Don’t want to hear about your love life, Dorian!” Sera cried, darting off. Ataasha looked like she needed a sit down herself.

“You saw him without the mask?” she whispered, staring faintly at him. “I mean, he took it off?”

“Yes,” Dorian said, wondering if she was all right. “He’s doing that more lately. It was cutting him off from human interaction, so we agreed maybe he didn’t need to wear it all the time. He’s experimenting with unmasking for people he likes. I think it’s going well. He seems happier for it. I think he was lonely. All that time trapped in the Fade can’t be good for you mentally.”

“I imagine not,” Ataasha said, looking troubled, and staring at him with no little concern. “And… you two are happy? He treats you well? Doesn’t try to bully you or force you into anything?”

“No, he’s been a perfect gentleman,” Dorian said, surprised. “I know he can be quite direct, but he’s not a bad man. He can be reasoned with. If he likes you.”

“If he… sorry, this is all a bit strange,” Ataasha said, rubbing her forehead. “I just didn’t think he’d be the type to have… doesn’t matter. The rest of the Inquisition. They’re all following willingly too, right? He’s not mind controlling anyone?”

“No, of course not, we’ve got enough Templars looking out for blood magic,” Dorian said, starting to wonder what this was about. Why would she think Miraak might be mind-controlling the entire Inquisition?

“I see,” Ataasha said, shaking her head. “I will need to think about this. But never mind that. What’s your elven friend found?”

Solas turned out to have found something called Veilfire, the memory of fire from the Fade that could be kindled by a mage, although carried by anyone. Ataasha was wrinkling her nose at the sickly green light.

“It’s lovely?” she said faintly, and waited until the others had gone on ahead before dropping back to walk with Dorian again. She didn’t seem impressed and Dorian mentioned this to her.

“I should be impressed at museum exhibit magic?” Ataasha said, amused and glancing at her own, rather prettier magelight. “My little sister can cast one of these. Come to think of it, so can my daughters.”

“You have children?” Dorian asked, surprised. She’d mentioned a husband, he supposed, she just didn’t look like she’d ever given birth.

“Two adopted daughters, and one son by blood,” Ataasha said fondly. “They live in my husband’s keep. As do I when I’m not travelling.”

Wistfulness in her eyes, and Dorian knew the feeling. He missed Miraak too. Children obviously weren’t going to happen, and Dorian doubted Miraak was the paternal type anyway… but all the same, it was one of the few regrets Dorian had. No children.

Further into the elven ruin, and there were more demons. Thankfully, no Fade rift, because Dorian couldn’t even begin to explain how the Thu’um worked, never mind try a Shout for himself. He’d been writing them down! Faithfully copying the words! Miraak had even translated them, finding the whole exercise amusing. But nothing Dorian had tried had ever got one to work. Not for him, anyway. Damn Miraak for making it all look so easy.

But fighting demons didn’t need the Thu’um, and once the demons were dealt with, a search of the ruins revealed a rune on one wall, the Veil-warding artefact Solas had been searching for… and Ataasha had found herself a magical elven amulet.

“That’s my fee sorted,” Ataasha said happily. “All right, I think we’re done, if you got what you came for.”

“That amulet might be more use to the Inquisition,” Solas said, eyeing it with a greedy look in his eyes.

“It’d be useful to me,” Ataasha said, cold look in her eyes as she stared at Solas.

“To a Vashoth? How!” Solas cried. “It’s elven magic. Powerful as you are, you couldn’t wield it!”

Ataasha’s stony gaze could have turned Solas into it.

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, elf,” Ataasha said softly, dangerously. “You don’t even begin to know the extent of my power.”

“Mage,” Cassandra said, reaching for her sword. “He is an Inquisition member. Don’t threaten us.”

“I’m not…! Ugh!” Ataasha sighed, not liking her chances or not wanting to fight, who knew. “Fine. I will trade it for information. Dorian. Tell me. The words Miraak uses to close rifts. What are they. Tell me those, you can have this. It’s not as good as the one I have anyway.”

“Why on earth do you want those?” Dorian asked, mystified. “You won’t be able to use them! No one else can Shout! Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Perhaps I just collect knowledge,” Ataasha said sweetly. “Never mind what I plan to do with them. What are the words?”

Dorian sighed. He might as well tell her. What was some strange mage going to do with a Thu’um anyway. Even if she did learn it, she’d only use it to shout rifts shut and that was a good thing, surely?

“Strin Feim Fus,” he told her. “They mean close fade force. Close the Fade by Force. Look, I never got any of his Thu’ums to work. It won’t do you any good!”

Ataasha just smiled and tossed him the amulet.

“And yet it might just save the world,” she said, smiling and actually looking grateful. “Thank you, Dorian. You know, you’re all right. I… I hope Miraak is a good partner for you.”

“He is,” Dorian said, remembering shared laughter, shared hugs, Miraak fussing over him which had once bothered him and now just seemed cute, being carried after getting injured and realising having a boyfriend had definite upsides. 

Ataasha just nodded, worry in her eyes and it seemed directed at Dorian for some reason. And then she was gone, the mysterious mage heading off to do who knew what.

Dorian had a feeling he’d not seen the last of her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Fallow Mire. As in marsh. As in swamp. As in raining, former plague site, unburied corpses everywhere that the marsh preserved and thin Veil meaning spirits causing another plague of the walking dead.

Miraak was hating every bit of this place. But he was managing to carve through the undead with blade, Thu’um and magic, and they’d founded a second camp. No sign of the Avvar who’d captured his soldiers yet.

At least until they found a dead one lying in the road. Look of horror on her face as she’d died… and looking like the blood had been drained out of her.

Then another one, looking like a demon had sliced him to pieces with its claws. And another, frozen solid.

“What the hell did this?” Miraak murmured. Three corpses and the modes of death were too varied to be one person, surely. Destruction mage? Vampire? Frost demon? Some clawed horror?

“There must be a rift nearby,” Vivienne said, concerned herself. “This is a demon’s work, no doubt. A rift might have spawned several. Still, these barbarians know how to fight and don’t run lightly from one. They believe those who die in battle go to a paradise in the Fade. Preposterous of course.”

Miraak flinched at that, tempted to snap something about his people’s traditions… but Avvar weren’t his people. Even if they did look like Atmorans under the paint and fur. And had a similar afterlife belief apparently.

“Green light up there,” Blackwall said, glancing through the trees to just past a cabin. “And… there’s a man. Just one. On his own. Take care, Herald, he might know who did this… or it might be his work.”

It might. He definitely seemed magey, had some odd aura. Almost like he’d wrapped himself in illusions somehow. And before Miraak could get close, he’d turned, face lit up in the green light of what looked like a sealed rift.

Not a young man. White haired. Pale skin. Shorter than him but who wasn’t. Maybe around Dorian’s height. Dressed in some purple and black armour and that axe at his belt… wait. An ebony axe? Miraak didn’t even know they had ebony out here, he’d never seen any. And yet this looked for all the world like a Tamrielic ebony axe. And… he had a raven perched on his shoulder. A pet?

The man grinned at him, seeming amused by something.

“So you’re finally here. Miraak the Dragonborn in the flesh. Either that or someone borrowed his mask. Ha. No. Anyone who takes that thing dies, right?”

Something about that accent too. It wasn’t a Fereldan one. Damned if he could place it though.

“Who are you,” Miraak growled. “Are you with the Avvar?” Glancing around, he saw two more lying around, these all charred, and a third slumped against the cabin, head stoved in by a war axe.

The stranger followed his gaze, still smiling. 

“Hardly,” he purred. “I was in the area, happened to notice this thing, took a closer look and then these fine fellows decided they needed some target practice. So I obliged. Someone should have told them never to attack the old man on his own in a place like this. They should have known things weren’t as they seemed.”

He tilted his head, smile fading.

“Name’s Danach. I’m a mage. I am also very handy with this axe and have been killing idiots like this for most of my life. No need to ask who you are. Everyone’s been telling stories of the mighty Miraak. They seem to think you’re the hero who’s going to save the world. You know, I really hope they’re right. For all our sakes.”

For some reason, Danach didn’t seem convinced, in fact his expression seemed hostile.

“I am going to save the world,” Miraak snapped. “I am going to seal the Breach, find the Elder One who caused it, end him, and then reap the gratitude. But first, I am retrieving my soldiers that this joor mey Avvar chieftain has taken prisoner, and if I have to go through him to do it, so be it. Do I need to go through you as well?”

The raven on his shoulder cawed sharply in warning, and then Blackwall placed a hand on his shoulder.

“No call for that, Herald. He’s not challenging us, and he’s not with the Avvar. He’s not the reason we’re here.”

“He said himself things weren’t as they seemed,” Miraak growled, still looking for a reason to trust this Danach and not finding one. “We should just trust him? I don’t think so.”

“Hang on to that paranoia, it’ll serve you well,” Danach said, eyes on Blackwall. “Soldier. You weren’t afraid to contradict him? Miraak’s a powerful and dangerous man, you know.”

“Yes,” Blackwall said, staring Danach down. “Yes he is. But he’s also been willing to listen to reason in the time I’ve known him, isn’t wantonly cruel and is trying to do the right thing. He just needs his more emotional reactions reining in now and then.”

Danach’s eyebrows had shot up as if he’d not expected to hear that at all.

“You’re loyal, serving of your own free will but not afraid to criticise,” Danach said softly. “Did not see that coming. That’s… something to think about. But never mind that. This thing. This Fade rift. They say you’re the only one who can banish them. Want to show me how it’s done?”

Miraak turned his attention to the rift, which he really should do something about. Sealed, this one. Odd. Never mind. A Thu’um could get it open.

“Prepare yourself then, Danach. There will be demons. Get ready for a fight.”

The raven took off, flying into the night, and Danach nodded, stepping back and bracing himself. Miraak cast his mage armour, then shouted the rift open.

Demons, some of which started raising the nearby corpses, and Miraak could have sworn he heard Danach swearing. The words sounded oddly like the Reach tongue, Rhanzul, but with a rage demon advancing, he didn’t have time to think about it. Rhanzul wasn’t a language he really knew anyway.

Danach proved to be as capable a mage as he’d promised, wielding Destruction magic with a ferocity Miraak hadn’t seen since fighting Liriel the elven Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha. None of the holding back a lot of the Circle mages seemed to do, even Vivienne. He wasn’t struggling to keep his magic in check. He simply wielded it.

Miraak was a tiny bit impressed but kept it hidden. He didn’t have the Thu’um after all. And once the demons were gone, Miraak wasted no time deploying it again, this time banishing the rift for good.

He turned to Danach and was pleasantly surprised to see his reaction.

“You really can get rid of them,” Danach said, actually sounding impressed. Miraak nodded.

“What can’t my Thu’um do,” Miraak said proudly. “When it seals the Breach, all will know I am truly sent by their Maker.”

“Yeah, there’s the Miraak I heard of,” Danach said, awe fading as soon as it had come. “Well, for now, you’re the rift-sealing hero of the hour. But watch your back, Miraak. People are fickle. And if you overstep the mark… for every dark lord, there will rise a hero to fight them. That’s how it goes. I hope you keep on being a hero. I really, truly do.”

Then Danach _melted into a swarm of bats_ , and disappeared into the night. What in Oblivion…

“OK, now I’ve seen everything,” Varric said, shaking his head. Miraak could only turn to Vivienne, at a loss. 

“What a surprise,” Vivienne said archly. “The strange man we meet in the swamp turns out to be some apostate maleficar. He’s probably Chasind, my dear. Most of them have browner skin but there’s some exceptions. It would explain the apparent shapeshifting magic.”

It might… but Miraak wasn’t completely convinced he was Chasind either. He knew far too much about Miraak for a start. 

It was like he knew about Miraak’s initial attempts to return to Tamriel as God-King of Solstheim. A plan he’d been forced to abandon by another Dragonborn.

No. Not possible. There was no way someone from Tamriel could have followed him here. And yet…

If his rival Dragonborn had found her way here, the Elder One was the least of his worries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

After that, things went rather more smoothly. True, there were undead, spirits, Avvar and the local wildlife to contend with, and when they got to the keep the Avvar were occupying, the undead were walking in hordes. 

Unrelenting Force sent them flying, buying enough time to get into the keep, and surprisingly, they didn’t follow them inside. More Avvar guarding the entrance, and then in the ruined great hall, the Avvar chieftain was waiting for them.

Miraak called Dragon Aspect into being, cast Ebonyflesh and advanced and to his surprise one of the archers swore in something that sounded like a bastardised version of Atmoran and fled out the back of the castle.

“Dovahkiin??” the Avvar chief gasped, sounding delighted. “Hah! Defeating you will be a story to tell for ages to come!”

Dovahkiin?? Were the Avvar descended from the Atmorans somehow? Had a party of them come here once and brought their greatest legend with them?

Miraak sincerely hoped the name Miraak had been forgotten. As it was, these needed dispatching. He’d definitely need to look into this further.

“You’ll be telling it in Sovngarde,” Miraak growled. “Tell Tsun Miraak sent you. You’ll be far from alone. IIZ SLEN NUS!”

Battle was joined and between Miraak’s Thu’um, Vivienne’s magic, Blackwall powering in to strike, and Varric’s pinpoint precision with Bianca, the battle was eventually carried. A search of the bodies revealed a key, and it unlocked a door… which contained the missing soldiers.

“It’s the Herald!” one cried. “I knew he’d come to save us!”

Of course he had. Miraak felt it again, the vennesetiid caressing him and that feeling in his heart, a feeling of pride… and relief.

“I would never abandon my people,” Miraak promised. “Are you all alright. Are any of you injured?”

“Yes, but we’ll be fine,” one of the women said. “We’re not badly hurt. We can get back by ourselves.”

“Don’t be meyye,” Miraak said, healing magic flaring in his hands. “Everyone who is hurt, form a queue. I am healing you all before you go. Follow the road back, it’ll take you to the forward camp. Who’s first?”

Healing for all, and then one of the women indicated one lone figure in what looked like peasant clothing, hunched over in the corner.

“He’s not one of us, but they captured him as well,” she told him. “He’s Orlesian, we think, but he’s no noble, just a farmer. He’s called Cesaire, and… please help him. He’s barely spoken, he must be terrified.”

Miraak went to check on him, casting a magelight to get a better look and saw long red hair the same colour Saering’s had been once… and then the man looked up, pale skin, brown eyes, and apart from the fact he was clean-shaven, he looked just like Miraak’s long-dead husband.

Miraak sank to his knees, feeling his heart stop, everything stop, because this wasn’t him, it couldn’t be him, Saering couldn’t have come back.

Once, he’d have longed for this. Not even that long ago. A second chance with Saering. Yes. Absolutely yes. But not now.

Now all he felt was sick because he had Dorian now, and he wasn’t even sure he wanted Saering back. Let him rest, dammit!

Then the man spoke, and the illusion died.

“Sir,” Cesaire the Orlesian farmer whispered, and the voice was nothing like him. “Are you him? The Herald of Andraste?”

“They do call me that, yes,” Miraak said, pulling himself together and reminding himself very firmly that Saering was dead and going to remain so. “Are you all right? You’re bruised.”

Cesaire had a black eye, and was far too thin, and his clothes were torn. Whimpering, Cesaire didn’t resist as Miraak’s magic healed his injuries, in fact he closed his eyes and actually giggled.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Cesaire whispered. “The others said you would save us. Humble Cesaire wasn’t sure if the stories were really true, but he heard them, he has, he has! Are we going to Haven?”

“Yes, if you want,” Miraak said, because even though this clearly wasn’t Saering, Miraak couldn’t see that face in pain and remain immune. “Unless you wished to go somewhere else, in which case we can take you home.”

Cesaire shook his head. 

“Cesaire was running away. His previous masters beat him. Cruel they were to poor Cesaire! Cesaire came out here because they wouldn’t follow to a place like this… but he didn’t know there were Avvar here. But the kind Herald has saved me! Just like the others said he would! Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! How can Cesaire ever repay you?”

“I was just doing my job,” Miraak said, feeling oddly touched by the depth of the odd little fellow’s enthusiasm. “Repayment is not required. But if you have nowhere to go… come with us. The Inquisition needs people.”

Cesaire’s face lit up, and the memory of Saering in happier days hit home and hit hard. This might be a mistake… but Miraak couldn’t just leave the poor man. He was fairly certain he didn’t want to have sex with him by this point… but the urge to take care of him and make sure he was all right would not go away.

“Cesaire would be happy to help!” Cesaire cooed. “Cesaire has been a servant for many years, Cesaire has skills. Does the Herald need a valet? Cesaire would be more than pleased to help the Herald of Andraste!”

A personal valet? All to himself? Well now. That was something he’d not thought about but the more he did, the more he liked the idea.

“I think we can work something out,” Miraak told him, helping him to his feet. “Come with me. We’ll go to Haven and speak with my Ambassador. I could do with a personal assistant.”

Cesaire squealed and bounced along after him, promising he would make it worth the kind Herald’s while, he would, he would!

Miraak was sure he would. He just hoped Dorian wouldn’t get jealous of him. Really, there was no need. Besides, he was sure Dorian would be easily placated with the possibility of Cesaire running errands for him as well. Did Cesaire have any barbering skills? Getting a shave in the morning off a skilled professional would be a damn sight better than doing it himself. Did he do massages?? By the gods, Miraak suddenly wanted a back and foot massage. He’d have to ask. 

Entertaining himself with ideas of him and Dorian both getting back massages off his new valet, Miraak was feeling quite pleased with himself until he went back out into the hall… and Blackwall’s arm stopped him.

“Herald. We’ve got company.”

“The apostate maleficar is back… and he has a friend,” Vivienne said coldly. Miraak looked, and sure enough, Danach was silhouetted in the doorway… and with him was a woman, almost his height, same silver hair he had, a raven feather cloak, more illusions wrapped round her than her brother had, and a staff in her hand that…

Looked exactly like a Reachman staff, and Miraak felt his blood chill as he began to realise what he might see if he dispelled the illusions.

What the fuck was a Matriarch of the Reach doing here, and who was Danach, because that was a Reachman’s name.

“Hello there, Miraak,” Danach said calmly. “This is my sister Keirine. We watched your little fight. Most impressive.”

“You didn’t join in, I notice,” Miraak said, eyeing them carefully, and stepping in front of Cesaire. The poor man had been through enough.

“It wasn’t our fight,” Keirine said, her voice low and husky. “But we did enjoy the show. Always a pleasure to watch a Dragonborn at work.”

“Who are you,” Miraak said, voice low and vicious because he was done messing around, and what was more, he had a horrible feeling they were familiar with a Dragonborn other than him. And if Liriel was involved… Miraak felt his blood go cold at the thought.

“We’re Danach and Keirine,” Keirine said, amused. “Try to keep up, Dragonborn.”

“Two apostate maleficars,” Vivienne sniffed. “I say we end them both now.”

Cesaire actually wailed, and while Miraak was not averse to a fight and could probably take them, there were too many innocent bystanders. He wasn’t risking Cesaire if they hadn’t actually attacked yet.

“No,” Miraak decided. “They haven’t drawn weapons. And I’m not without honour. We’ve shed the blood that needed it, we don’t need to shed more. But I want to know who you two really are.”

“We’re the ones whose word might carry weight with someone important,” Danach said, smile fading. “We’re trying to work out if you’re a hero or villain. If your Inquisition is going to save the world… or if it’s the cult of Miraak that’s going to enslave it.”

“The Inquisition’s not a cult!” Blackwall snapped. “Miraak’s a respected member of it, but it’s not about him. We’re after justice for the Divine and fixing the hole in the world. Restoring order and bringing peace. We’re Andrastians. We’re not worshipping Miraak.”

“No? Your soldiers were singing his praises,” Keirine said, raising an eyebrow. 

“They were grateful for being rescued,” Miraak growled. “I can’t help it if people think highly of me. It is earned, I promise you.”

“I suppose you did heal them, even when they said they’d be fine,” Danach said thoughtfully. “And your friends here seem to have their own free will. It looks like you do actually seem to care about the people who serve with you, and that the Inquisition is not currently a cult of mind-controlled drones all praising the mighty Miraak. Not that you would ever bend a load of people’s wills to make your own cult, of course.”

They knew far too much.

“Who are you??” Miraak snapped, drawing his blade. “Tell me what you’re doing here. Who sent you?”

“We wanted to see you in action,” Keirine said, unruffled. “And now we have. Brother, I believe our work here is done.”

“Indeed,” Danach said, knowing grin on his face. “Good luck with the Breach, Dragonborn. Go be a hero. You know, I hope you don’t die. I’m keen to see what you do next.”

Danach melted into the swarm of bats, and Keirine shifted into a raven, and then both were gone into the night, leaving Miraak shaken, feeling real fear for the first time since… since fighting Liriel.

Two powerful Reach mages. Here. And they knew who he was, what he’d done on Solstheim. The only possible link was Liriel.

She couldn’t be here. She couldn’t!

If those two had made it here, she could easily have followed. And that could mean the end for Miraak. The only person in the world who could withstand his power, and not only that, take his soul when he died, ending him for good.

Miraak was not a coward and he feared very little… but Liriel in Thedas scared him more than the Elder One ever could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was such a bad idea. They should have rooted out the remaining mercenaries then left it at that. But Varric had noticed a winding passage leading away from the mercenary camp, and Cassandra had decided they should follow it to ensure there were no more and…

The valley beyond was bandit-free… but not dragon-free, and the High Dragon that made it home took to the air to greet them.

“TODAY IS A GOOD DAY! TODAY IS A VERY GOOD DAY!” Bull had roared, eager to fight. But he was no Dragonborn, and this dragon might have given even Miraak trouble. As it was, they were all injured, out of healing potions, Bull was unconscious, Sera was struggling to lift her bow, and Solas was beset by the dragon’s offspring. Cassandra was still fighting, but Dorian was out of mana and when the barrier wore off…

His barrier wore off, and Dorian was now convinced he was going to die here. Staring up at the dragon, he looked into its jaws, saw fire and knew he wasn’t going to make this one.

_Miraak, I’m so sorry._

“MUL QAH DIIV!”

That was a Thu’um. That was a Thu’um! Miraak was here? How?

Dorian would take a hundred lectures off Miraak and never being allowed to leave Haven again if it meant his beloved amatus saved him. Except… the voice was wrong. It lacked the deep reverberating bass, in fact it sounded like a woman.

The temperature dropped like a stone and twin frost spells soared over his head, hitting the dragon and making it scream in pain. It took to the air in a vain attempt to escape, but more ice magic hit it in flight, causing to crash clumsily to the ground on a ledge further down the valley.

Cassandra was off after it, lightning magic took out the last of the baby dragons, and then Solas and Sera were off after Cassandra.

Dorian staggered up, wondering if he should go after them or just have a long sit down for a while, and then the magic hit him. Healing magic, same chimes Miraak’s used, but not as forceful. With Miraak, Dorian always had a sense the spell was forcing him to get better. This spell was softer, subtler, probing him for injuries and carefully fixing what it found. As if the caster simply knew what they were doing more than Miraak did. That was actually unsettling.

A hand on his back, and the voice wasn’t Miraak’s, not at all. Ataasha.

“Are you all right.”

“I think I will be,” Dorian said, turning to look at her… and nearly dropping his staff when he saw the Dragon Aspect clinging to her. Dragon Aspect. Miraak had invented that one himself. How in the world did Ataasha know it? She shouldn’t know any Shouts at all!

“Sorry,” Ataasha said apologetically. “I may not have been entirely honest earlier. I wanted to know what else you were up to so I followed. Lucky for you, eh?”

Glancing up at the dragon still fighting Cassandra, she gestured at the path leading to it and another storm demon materialised, making its way for the dragon with lightning ready to kill. And then Ataasha saw Bull on the ground and ran to his side.

“He’s breathing but only just,” Ataasha said, shaking her head. “Please tell me he didn’t just run screaming at the dragon with his axe.”

Dorian had to confess he’d done exactly that.

“ _Idiot,_ ” Ataasha said fervently, her healing magic coming to her fingers. “Be thankful I was here. I can fix this.”

Magic flowed into Bull, and yes, that definitely wasn’t how Miraak cast. She moved hands over affected areas, carefully feeling out injuries, knitting flesh together with care and precision, guiding the magic, and it was slower than Miraak’s but likely using less mana and…

Dorian realised already that he wouldn’t need carrying out of this ravine and that her magic restored him as if he’d never been hurt. She really was better at wielding healing magic than Miraak was.

Bull opened his eye, saw a pretty Vashoth with a dragon illusion that gave her horns like a Tamassran’s and promptly went “DAMN!”

Ataasha just glared at him.

“I’m _married,_ ” Ataasha informed him. “And my husband is not interested either. Come on, let’s have a look at that dragon.”

The dragon was dead by this time, Cassandra and the others returning with loot from its corpse, and Cassandra drew her sword, pointing it at Ataasha.

“Stand down, mage!” Cassandra snapped. “You will explain how you learnt Voice magic and you will explain yourself now! None but the Herald knows it!”

“He doesn’t have the monopoly on the Thu’um!” Ataasha snapped. “I’m not doing anything wrong, gods, what is your problem??”

“She’s a Seeker,” Dorian said. “Their purpose for centuries was to harass mages. But… how did you learn the Thu’um. Miraak himself came up with that Shout! And he didn’t share it with anyone. Are you a…”

Demon, was what he’d been about to say. But Ataasha’s next words shocked him.

“Dragonborn. Like Miraak. Yes. I am. The words for it I found written down in various places in Solstheim. Once I had those, I could copy his Shout. He wasn’t pleased!”

Ataasha seemed actually amused by that, but Dorian could only wonder why Miraak had never once mentioned her. Another Dragonborn?? Why had he never told him?

Shocked looks among them all… apart from Bull who was just whispering “there’s two of them?? Taarsidath-an halsaam!”

Ataasha glanced at him, grinned and said “it does sound like Dovahzul, doesn’t it?” Then her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

“WHAT? That’s disgusting! I have a husband! Oh my god! I am _not_ talking to you!”

“But you have questions to answer,” Solas said, frowning. “Miraak never mentioned there being another Dragonborn.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Ataasha said, rolling her eyes. “Look, I will explain everything… but only to Dorian. I don’t trust the rest of you. You, on the other hand… you’ve been all right, and I didn’t forget the first thing you did was come to check on me rather than rush off to play hero with the demons. And of all people, you deserve to know the truth about who you’re dating, because I can see he never told you.”

Dorian nodded mutely, following her to what turned out to be the remains of a dock. Ataasha’s magic repaired it enough for them to cross to the other side, and she sat down on the jetty, staring out over Lake Calenhad.

“So I imagine you have questions,” Ataasha said softly. “Go on. Ask away. I’ll answer as best I can.”

Dorian sat down next to her, not sure where to start, because it was becoming apparent Miraak had not told him certain things which Dorian could really have stood to know, and the thought Miraak might have lied to him was breaking his heart.

_What else have you lied about, Miraak._

“You know Miraak,” Dorian said, just about keeping his voice steady. “How? He was trapped in the Fade for four thousand years by his own account!”

“That part’s true,” Ataasha said, nodding. “He was stuck there. He was a dragon priest once, a high ranking member of a cult that worshipped dragons – I say cult. Apparently it was once the main religion across a vast region. Miraak was a leading figure in it. And Dragonborn, apparently. Able to learn the dragon language and instinctively identify words of power and turn them into Shouts.”

“He told me that part,” Dorian said. “He also told me he turned to demon – Daedra – worship, and ended up being taken prisoner by one. You have to know he shows nothing but regret for that part!”

“I imagine he does,” Ataasha sighed. “Yes, he was stuck in the Fade, and when the explosion that created the Breach happened, he took advantage of it and escaped through it. You know that part. But did he tell you his original plans to get free? What he was doing when the explosion happened? No, of course not. Because that makes him look a lot less heroic.”

“What was he doing?” Dorian asked, bracing himself. “And how did you meet him?”

“As to that, when I was called as Dragonborn, Miraak sent his cultists after me to try and kill me,” Ataasha said, glancing up at him. “He doesn’t like rivals. I’m sorry, Dorian. This won’t be easy to hear.”

It already wasn’t and Dorian couldn’t bring himself to look at her because he already sensed she wasn’t lying. Miraak did not like rivals, did he? He might well have tried to have another Dragonborn killed.

“Keep talking,” Dorian said softly. “Get it over with. Presumably these cultists – dear Maker, he had cultists? They weren’t up to a Dragonborn?”

“They’d been told I was an impostor,” Ataasha said mirthlessly. “They learnt otherwise the hard way. And yes, he had cultists. Fanatics dedicated to worshipping the true Dragonborn. Ironically, if he’d not sent them, he might have succeeded. I’d never have gone near a backwater like Solstheim if he’d not got my attention. Yes, he had his own cult. I think most served willingly. But the rest of Solstheim didn’t.”

Dorian felt his blood chill, skin prickling because this… this sounded so like the Venatori, it frightened him.

 _Miraak. Miraak, what did you do!_ He had to hear more.

“What did he do to the rest of Solstheim?” Dorian whispered.

“There are these magical sacred stones on Solstheim called All-Maker Stones,” Ataasha told him. “Miraak used his Thu’um, from Oblivion I might add, to get control of them and harness their power to enslave the entire island. He was getting the people to build shrines to fully focus their power and eventually allow him to return. He was going to take the place over and rule as some sort of God-King. King of Solstheim and all its mind-controlled thralls. He’d even enslaved dragons. Dragons, can you imagine! And I walked into all this and turned out to be the one person on the island who could resist his Thu’um. Because I was Dragonborn as well. So I went in search of more information, and eventually learnt the Thu’um he was using to control people’s minds. I used it on the Stones, broke his power over them, freed everyone, and then went hunting for Miraak personally. Eventually I was able to follow him into Oblivion, track him down and went to put a stop to him once and for all. I nearly had him too! And then there was that damn explosion, and the bastard escaped! And I had to go home knowing the First Dragonborn was still out there somewhere. I’ve been hunting for him ever since. I didn’t know he’d run to a whole new land. I never would have found him if my husband and his sister hadn’t had a brainwave. It was their magic located Miraak on the other side of the planet, and my sister-in-law’s summoning skills that got me here. So here I am and what do I find?? Not only has he managed to assemble his own cult in the short few weeks he’s been here, everyone thinks he’s some sort of hero! And you know what the really annoying thing is, Dorian??”

“What,” Dorian whispered, still reeling from learning his boyfriend was no better than the Elder One they were fighting. 

“They might be right!” Ataasha cried. “He’s the only one with any power over these damn rifts. And not only that, he’s been doing the right thing! Helping people. Everyone at the Crossroads tells me the refugees there owe their lives to his Inquisition. People in Redcliffe tell me he singlehandedly duelled the Tevinter Magister who’d taken over the town and forced hi m to surrender! I even spoke to this elderly elf who reckons Miraak took flowers to his wife’s grave for him because the journey was too dangerous for him. The man nearly teared up telling me how he never thought a shem, let alone the Herald of Andraste, would ever care about him but that Miraak had not only done that but comforted him. Apparently he’d lost a spouse once too.”

“That’s true,” Dorian said softly. “He was married once but she died. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Ataasha seemed surprised by this, but didn’t argue.

“The stories never mentioned anyone in his life but maybe that part never survived,” Ataasha said thoughtfully. “I guess no one wants to think about the evil bad guy being a person with feelings and loved ones and… Mara have mercy. Here am I, trying to finish the job and deal with the bad guy, and what do I find? He’s not acting like a bad guy any more, and he’s even got a boyfriend! Who I am sat here with, telling all this, and… it turns out this boyfriend’s all right. Not a bad person. Not even a stupid one. Just… in love with the wrong person. Maybe. Ugh, I don’t know. What I do know is that thanks to the Inquisition, Miraak’s untouchable. You really do need him to fight the Elder One. And if I try to kill Miraak, I will just look like the villain and probably be helping the Elder One in the bargain, because the Inquisition will not rally round me if I kill their leader! Especially given the way they treat elves and mages round here! And I thought the Nords were bad.”

Dorian almost felt sorry for her. But given she’d originally been intending to kill his boyfriend, not that sorry.

If Miraak was still his boyfriend. Because learning he’d enslaved an entire island was a bit much, even for a man whose homeland had legal slavery. 

“What are you going to do,” Dorian whispered. “You said you’re not going to kill him.”

_Please don’t kill him. Even if he lied to me… even if he ends up not being my amatus any more… it would still break my heart if the bastard died._

“I don’t know,” Ataasha admitted. “I need to find out if this change of heart is genuine or not. If it is… I suppose I can let him live. Even if not, if he’s fighting the Elder One, he’s worth sparing. But I don’t know. You might though.”

“I might what?” And then Dorian realised why she was telling him all this. “I’m not spying on him for you! Even if we split up, he still has my loyalty!”

“I’m not asking you to spy,” Ataasha said, looking away. “I am telling you the truth about him so you can ask him about it. See what he says. Is he genuinely remorseful? Or does he deny everything? Or does he revert to type and use the Bend Will Shout on you to keep you in line.”

“The Bend Will… he wouldn’t do that!” Dorian protested. “He cares about me!”

“Because so far you’ve never disobeyed him?” Ataasha said, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t have known him long. And that’s the thing about abusive partners. They’re very good at hiding their true colours until they’ve got you where they want you.”

“He’s not abusive,” Dorian snapped, turning angrily on her, only to see sadness and sympathy in her eyes. Ataasha reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small vial on a chain, filled with… blood?

“Take this,” Ataasha said softly. “The Bend Will Shout is Gol Hah Dov. If he turns nasty or uses a Shout that starts with Gol, break this, it’ll open a portal to take you to safety. It’s meant for me in an emergency but I think you might need it more right now.”

Dorian took it off her, staring at it, wanting to know just how that worked, but he knew enough about haematurgical theory to guess how. It would take you to whoever had donated the blood. Like a phylactery in reverse.

A getaway charm for Ataasha in trouble, and she was giving it to him. And Dorian knew she wasn’t lying. Gol Hah Dov. Miraak had used this Shout. He’d used it on that demon after Dorian had been injured at the Storm Coast, and it had turned on its fellows, giving Miraak and the others space to win the fight. And she was Dragonborn too, no doubt. Who knew Miraak’s own Dragon Aspect Shout.

And she was giving him this in case he needed to flee his own lover. Dorian felt sick at the thought.

“My real name is Liriel,” Ataasha – no, Liriel apparently, was saying, a hand on his back. “Ataasha’s just an alias, you might have figured that out already. I’m not a Vashoth. I’m an Altmer. High Elf. You don’t have them here. I just let people believe I’m a female Qunari, it’s easier that way. If you ever need to use that portal, when the guards come running at the other end, get to your knees, close your hands into fists, cross your wrists and hands to your chest. Tell them ‘ik ma vrinda Liriel’. They’ll probably take you to my husband. That’s fine. He’ll know your language too. You can tell him everything. He’ll help you. His name’s Madanach. And he’s absolutely fine with mages.”

Dorian nodded mutely, feeling his world caving in around him at the thought that he now apparently had an emergency escape route. To get away from Miraak. Which was heartbreaking because if there was one place in the world he never thought he’d want to run from, it was Miraak’s arms.

Dorian had always known that bloody bastard would break his heart. 

“Thank you,” Dorian whispered, even though he was falling apart inside. “I hope I never need to use it.”

“I hope not too,” Liriel said, actually sounding kind. “I hope he’s genuinely turning into the man you thought he was. But you need to talk to him. Tell him all this and find out the truth. Tell him you met Liriel the Dragonborn. And also tell him this. And when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world will cease to be. He’ll know what it means.”

Dorian didn’t like the sound of it at all. It was the sort of thing an evil overlord might say.

He had a horrible feeling Miraak had said it once. Liriel got up and left, and Dorian followed her in numb silence, only speaking to tell Cassandra to let her go, she was innocent of any wrongdoing. And then it was time to loot the area and leave. And through the entire journey home, Dorian could bring himself to feel nothing.

Miraak had lied to him. Or at least, had kept things from him. Important things. Things such as ‘once enslaved an entire island and could easily do it again’. Dorian should have known he was too good to be true.

One way or another, he’d have answers. But he feared the answers were going to send him fleeing down a portal for his life and shattering his heart completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a few of you were expecting something along those lines but I bet most of you weren't. The Last Dragonborn really doesn't like leaving a job unfinished.
> 
> Liriel the High Elf Dragonborn is the protagonist of my Nightshade and Juniper series but you don't have to read that to read this - the timeline doesn't exactly line up anyway, so see this as set in a variant of that. She's married to Madanach the King in Rags, who ended up siding with the Empire in the Civil War, taking the Reach back and now rules as King - he's also a vampire, turned by Serana after Liriel had a kid with him and he decided he wanted to see said elven kid grow up. Any country other than the Reach and that might have been a problem but no one expects any better by this point. Keirine is First Matriarch of the Reach and Madanach's Hagraven sister and chief magical advisor. Cesaire is, obviously, Cicero, and very pleased to be infiltrating something like the Inquisition. So far he's there to spy rather than stab anyone. Madanach's parting words to Miraak were as much for Cicero's benefit as Miraak's.
> 
> Poor Dorian though. Never easy to find out your partner is a paid-up certified bastard. I had to write the confrontation scene three times before I was happy with it. It's... dramatic.
> 
> Notes on the Dovahzul:
> 
> Dein kostir - keep trying.
> 
> Hi mindos nel - you learn quickly
> 
> Joor mey - foolish mortal. Meyye - fools.
> 
> Maartaas nahgahdinok - terrifying necromancer
> 
> Sahrot - mighty
> 
> Los hi? - And you?


	10. The Shattering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian arrives in back in Haven with a decision to make and a hard conversation to have, and he's not remotely looking forward to it. Things get worse when Miraak returns too, and far from acting like an evil cult leader, he's being as loving as he ever was. But Dorian's no coward and the resulting conversation looks set to destroy them both... until Miraak's new valet intervenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the comments, the general consensus seems to be everyone wanting a deep heart to heart, and the sympathy being with Dorian, but no one actually really wanting a break-up. Good! Because this chapter took about three rewrites. It took it out of me. And the missing ingredient turned out to be Cicero left to his own devices and, rather than chatting up Bull like he did in the first two, actually did his bloody job, shamelessly eavesdropped and intervened at a key moment.
> 
> Anyway. Warnings for angst, trauma, PTSD, accidental spousal death, and Miraak opening up to Dorian about his past. Some of this Dorian had heard before in edited form, but this is a more unvarnished version.
> 
> On a lighter note, Bull's nickname for Dorian is now Vint-Boss.

Back in Haven. Miraak still on his way back apparently, but likely not far away. So Dorian went the tavern to do what he usually did when it all got too much. Hit the bottle. Not a good coping mechanism, but it was his and he wasn’t just going to abandon it. Him and alcohol were old friends by now!

Too bad Iron Bull found him first.

“THERE YOU ARE, VINT-BOSS!”

Dorian had barely sat down before the slap on the back sent him falling forward, and then the drink arrived. In a tankard bigger than his head.

There was steam coming off it. STEAM.

“Iron Bull,” Dorian sighed. “Always a pleasure. What, er, is this?”

“Maraas-lok!” Bull laughed. Fear-something-sky in Dovahzul. Dorian closed his eyes. He’d never get that man out of his heart, would he?

“What’s that exactly?” Dorian said, wondering if the strong Qunari ale might at least get Miraak out of his head for a few precious hours.

“It means drink!” Bull laughed. “Come on, get it down you! We killed a High Dragon! Like warriors out of legend!”

“Cassandra killed the High Dragon,” Dorian pointed out. “You got knocked out in the first five minutes due to just charging at the fire breathing behemoth with an axe. And we all owe Ataasha for turning up when she did, because I think she saved all our lives.”

“Anaan!” Bull laughed, raising his own tankard. “Seriously, she was one sexy lady. She’s got it all! She’s pretty. She’s powerful. She’s brave. And can Shout as well, it turns out. Say, you figured out what you’re gonna tell the boss yet? Cassandra’s still mad you wouldn’t tell anyone what she said to you.”

Dorian closed his eyes, fingers touching the vial round his neck. 

“She’ll know after Miraak does,” Dorian said firmly. He owed him that much at least.

“Well, your Herald’ll be back soon enough,” Bull said, arm round Dorian’s shoulders. “Now come on! Drink!”

Dorian stared at the drink, not sure about this one. This could go horribly badly. But what did he have to lose?

The tankard had almost touched his lips, when the door to the tavern burst open, a shadow falling on them all. Dorian looked up and saw the silhouette of his masked lover in the doorway, staring at him.

Dorian lowered the tankard, looking away. He really thought he’d have had more time.

“Fariiki,” and the voice that had once sent shivers of arousal down his spine now just made him shiver. “There you are. I heard you went to the Hinterlands in my absence?”

“Yes,” Dorian said, turning to face him and making sure to stare at a point just above Miraak’s left shoulder. “Solas wanted to look for a warding artefact that might stabilise the Veil. So we went to look for it. If you find more in your travels, they could help!”

“I see,” Miraak said, approaching then staring at the drink. “What in the Void is this. I have drunk with Reachmen and even they would not touch that.”

“It’s maraas-lok!” Bull announced, already filling his second. “Join us, boss! We killed a dragon!”

“Cassandra killed a dragon, Bull got knocked out in about five minutes,” Dorian clarified. “I personally am never doing that again unless you’re there.”

Silence from Miraak, and Dorian wished he’d just take the damn mask off. His expressions were easy to read! That thing… he could be gearing up for anything, and Dorian no longer trusted it wasn’t an eruption of rage.

“There was _what??_ ” Miraak snapped, and for some reason his face turned to Iron Bull. “Let me guess, you stumbled on a dragon’s lair and this Qunmey decided to just run screaming at it??”

“Why is everyone just assuming… yeah. Yeah, I did,” Bull admitted. “Boss, it was amazing, you should have seen her! Fifty feet of fire breathing awesomeness, I had to!”

Miraak’s mask was still firmly aimed at Bull, and Dorian could probably guess the expression behind it this time. 

“NO ONE in this Inquisition is going anywhere near one of your High Dragons without me present!” Miraak finally intoned, glancing round the tavern. Everyone suddenly took a great interest in the bottom of their tankards. “I am not having good people get slaughtered by dragons because SOMEONE wants the glory of being a great dragon hunter! We have an Elder One to fight and a Breach to seal. The dragons are NOT our problem.”

Miraak leaned in closer, mask inches from Bull’s face. 

“And if _Dorian_ is dragged into this again without me knowing about it, the dragon will be the least of your worries, Iron Bull!” Miraak hissed.

“OK boss!” Bull gasped. “No taking Vint-Boss into dragon fights without you. Got it!”

“Good,” Miraak purred, patting Bull on the back. “Also I killed twelve in a day once. You will have to work to beat _that_ record.” 

And then the smugness died and his shoulders sagged.

“They still won. It was not nearly so glorious as the skalds tell it. There is less glory in dragon-hunting than any of you think.”

Dorian stared at the maraas-lok, never having felt more conflicted in his life. Miraak was supposed to be evil. Miraak was supposed to be the bad man who’d enslaved Solstheim. He wasn’t supposed to care. Or feel guilt or remorse. But there was definitely evidence of all of those here. Dorian remembered him in the Dark Future, grieving the death of his Inquisition. And here he was, telling them all off for hunting dragons. Because that was his job, and not something they should get killed over. Miraak would risk his own life hunting dragons easily, but not theirs. Dorian couldn’t even complain about the overprotectiveness. Because they had all nearly died, and Dorian wasn’t sure he ever wanted to go near a dragon again. Not without his amatus there to protect him.

The amatus who’d enslaved a load of people. 

_That’s not even illegal back home._

No, it wasn’t. And yet… Dorian glanced around at the tavern full of people all serving willingly, all being paid for their trouble, all seeming a lot happier than any of the serv- no. Slaves. Call them by their name, Dorian. Everyone here a lot happier than the slaves of Tevinter. 

Dorian had the uneasy sensation that if he ever did go back home, he’d never be able to just unthinkingly accept the service of slave labour again. And the idea of Miraak just being able to shout anyone he liked into being his unthinking minion did not sit well at all.

 _You were supposed to be a hero, Miraak. You were supposed to be_ my hero! Dorian hadn’t told Miraak that out loud, of course. But waking up in the tent on the Storm Coast with a beautiful hero out of legend lying next to him had put a lump in his throat and a smile to his face and for a few moments would make him the happiest man in Thedas. And it had been a lie.

But here was Miraak. Still behaving like someone who cared.

Hand on his back, and Dorian became aware Miraak was saying his name.

“Sorry, amatus,” Dorian said, forcing a smile to his face. “I was having flashbacks to the dragon. Did you need something?”

Soft little sigh from Miraak, who picked him up off the chair without even breaking a sweat and held him for a few precious seconds before putting him down.

“No dragon will harm you while I draw breath, lokaali,” Miraak said softly. “Come on, come back to the cabin. I will find you something to drink that will not strip paint from walls, you can rest in my arms and we can talk, yes?”

They certainly needed to, and the fact he’d just had to lie to Miraak to avoid suspicion was killing him. And Miraak still behaving like an absolute sweetheart just made it worse.

Miraak was leading him out of the tavern, then stopped, looking down at this odd little man with wide brown eyes and long red hair who was staring up at them both. He wasn’t elaborately dressed, but someone had found warm gloves and a thick hooded coat from somewhere for him.

“Ah. Cesaire. Krosis. I fear the introductions in the tavern will have to wait. I need to take care of my Dorian tonight. Dorian. Meet my new valet. We just finished getting his paperwork in order. Cesaire, this is Dorian. My partner. If he wants one, he’s getting a hot shave as well. Although not tonight.”

Cesaire was looking up at Dorian, surprise and an odd expression in his eyes, but it passed as Cesaire smiled brightly at him.

“Hello good sir Dorian!” Cesaire chirped. “Humble Cesaire is happy to help you with anything you might require! Hair care! Nail care! Shaving! Massages! Errands! Clothing repair! Anything you like, sir. Anything at all.”

“He gave Vivienne a manicure and she tried to poach him,” Miraak said proudly. “Whoever he served before, he was wasted on them. And the hot shaves. Dorian. You have to let this man give you a shave. It will bring you closer to the gods.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Dorian said, nodding at Cesaire, although after he’d spoken to Miraak, chances were Dorian would never get to take that offer up. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Cesaire. I hope he’s not being too overbearing?”

“Oh no sir, not at all,” Cesaire said cheerfully. “Lord Miraak has been so kind! Saving poor Cesaire from the nasty Avvar! Helping him in return is the least I could do!”

Dorian smiled, knowing it didn’t meet his eyes. Cesaire definitely liked men, Dorian could tell that much. Maybe Cesaire could look after Miraak if Dorian was gone. Or… maybe the poor man would be the next in line for abuse.

He didn’t like to think about it. Fortunately, Miraak was telling Cesaire he could have the night off and report in for duty day after tomorrow, and even gave him some cash, magnanimously patting his shoulder then reaching for Dorian, leading him out of the tavern.

Cesaire watched them go, money in his hand and wondering if he’d got the right person here. Evil Overlords weren’t supposed to generously tip their valets, insist to their treasurer and ambassador the standard rate was just not enough and he needed paying more than that, sort them out with a coat and gloves and boots so they didn’t get cold, and then give them a day off to settle in. They were not supposed to be arrestingly cute under the mask either. He’d expected tentacles or scales or at least demonic eyes. None of that! Miraak had turned out to have gorgeous blue eyes and lovely fluffy blonde hair and exquisitely sculpted facial geometry. And, it turned out, a boyfriend. A very pretty boyfriend with lovely tan skin, who clearly paid attention to his appearance and whose cuticles would not be in the same dreadful state Miraak’s had been in.

Who was also… bothered about something. Cesaire did not know what. But there was trouble in the air, and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Cesaire was here to look after Miraak, yes? Keep an eye on him. Ensure all was well. Keep an eye out for… cultishness. 

He hadn’t seen much of that yet, but he’d seen incipient marital problems. That was not technically his remit, but it was just possible the Evil Overlord’s change of heart had been due to the pretty boyfriend. Which meant a traumatic break-up simply Would Not Do.

Pocketing the coin, Cesaire slipped out of the tavern, fastened his nice winter coat up, slipped into the shadows and followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The cabin door closed behind them with a finality that made Dorian flinch, but Miraak didn’t even seem to notice as he hung the key up on the key holder near the door.. He just stoked the fire, took his mask off, laid it aside, laid his gloves alongside it and then returned to Dorian, hands cupping his face.

“Fariiki, are you truly all right,” Miraak said softly. “I can tell something is bothering you. Is it just coming face to face with a dragon? Or did something else happen? I have news of my own but if you are unhappy, it can wait.”

Dorian closed his eyes, feeling tears coming, because this was it, wasn’t it. Telling his boyfriend he knew. Losing Miraak, which was hard enough on its own, but the added fear that Miraak might revert to type and turn on him made it all that much worse. And Miraak had just made that little whimpering gasp again and had started cuddling him.

“Fariiki, don’t cry,” Miraak was gasping, rubbing his back. “Whatever it is, whatever’s wrong, you can tell me. I will help you, I promise!”

Miraak was the damn problem in the first place! Dorian knew there was no help for it.

“And when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world shall cease to be,” Dorian intoned, breaking out of Miraak’s embrace and pushing him away. “I fucking know, Miraak! Your original plan for getting out of the Fade! What Gol Hah does! You’ve only used it on animals and demons here, but I know what you did with it back in Solstheim, and why you can’t go back! Because you tried to kill the only other Dragonborn in existence and she’ll finish the job if you set foot there again! And you were never going to tell me, were you. You were just going to let me believe you were this Maker-sent hero. Me and everyone else.”

Dorian stared furiously at Miraak, magic at the ready, waiting for the inevitable response, for the rage, for the Bend Will Shout. It never came. Miraak was just staring at him in mute horror.

Guilt. Miraak could actually feel it. That was something.

“How did you… she’s here, isn’t she. Liriel. Did you meet Liri- are you all right???”

Real fear in Miraak’s eyes. Real, true terror. And of course Dorian was all right, Liriel wasn’t evil! Liriel was what a Dragonborn saviour was supposed to be! And yet… staring into Miraak’s eyes, Dorian wasn’t anything like as sure, because the most fearless man Dorian knew who’d face dragons without flinching was reacting to news of her presence as if her coming meant doom for them all. And he seemed to fear for Dorian, as if she might hurt him.

The possibility Liriel might have been lying to him suddenly surfaced, and maybe she’d saved him for some nefarious plot of her own. Such as removing the Dragonborn’s partner from play?

She could have done that a lot more efficiently by just doing nothing, and the fact Liriel had been quite willing to admit her own bewilderment at Miraak’s apparently changed behaviour meant it probably wasn’t her lying, was it.

“She saved me from the dragon, and that’s when we found out the Dragon Aspect Shout you created personally is something she can do as well,” Dorian said firmly. “She said she’d talk to me and only me, and so we went away from the others and she told me what you really were. Worse than the Elder One apparently. Is she right? Is the Inquisition your new cult to replace the old? Are we all going to start filing out of Haven at night to build shrines for you?”

“No!” Miraak cried. “That’s not – I’m not – I’m not the same man! I’ve changed, Dorian!”

“Changed! This was all going on right before the Conclave explosion happened, you took the chance to flee and the only thing that seems to have changed is that you’re having to start over without the resources you might have had once or any knowledge of this place to go on!” Dorian snapped. “We’re not the Cult of Miraak yet because maybe you’re still working on it! Tricking us into thinking you’re some sort of hero! Tricking me -! I thought I might be falling in love with you, you know! I thought you were everything I could ever want in a man. The man of my dreams. But no. You’re as bad as the Venatori, it turns out. And I – I knew you were too good to be true.”

Miraak had just stared at him the whole while, face frozen in that expression of horror that Dorian flinched to see because it just made him look too human, and Dorian realised he couldn’t cope with this any more.

“I’m leaving,” Dorian said firmly. “You, now. Haven in the morning. I don’t know where I’ll go after that but… somewhere far away from this. I just… can’t do this, Miraak, I can’t. I won’t be a party to this. I won’t.”

Miraak’s hand had reached out, Miraak instinctively moving towards him, and Dorian stepped back, barrier spell flaring, staff in his hand, ready to repel even the Thu’um if he had to.

What he’d not expected was Miraak to whisper “no, not again”, face crumbling into misery, and then his hand had lowered and he’d sunk to his knees, hands covering his face, one sob and then kneeling in silence, just shaking.

Dorian lowered his staff, not having expected that at all. Miraak should be behaving like an abusive tyrant right about now. He should emphatically not be on his knees in tears.

“Miraak?” Dorian gasped, fighting down his own feelings of panic. He’d just broken Miraak. Oh dear god. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! Miraak was supposed to be evil!

Miraak lowered his hands, wiping tears away, not looking at Dorian.

“If you’re leaving, go,” Miraak gasped. “Get it over with. I saw you raise your staff. I know that look. I saw it on Saering too, before he died. I never would have hurt him, just as I would never have harmed you, but… if your love is gone, there is nothing I can do, is there. Go, if you’re going. I won’t stop you. Go back to Tevinter. Live a long and happy life without me. Find someone else who will love you like you deserve. Be far from here when Liriel comes for me. She will, you know. There’s no stopping that one. And she’s right. I am a monster. So go, my Dorian, my beloved. Get yourself to safety. Forget me. I will love you always, but you are safer away from me. Before I destroy you like I destroyed everyone else I ever loved.”

 _No,_ Dorian wanted to cry. _No, don’t you dare say it, don’t you dare say the words. Don’t you dare tell me that, not now, not like this!_

He’d been so focused on Gol Hah Dov, he’d forgotten the three other words that could break him just as easily. Not a Thu’um, just Miraak admitting he loved him.

Silence, in which Miraak just knelt there in mute surrender and Dorian stared back, not sure what to do or how to react, only that he’d expected a fight, not… this.

Dorian felt slightly offended that apparently they as a couple weren’t even worth fighting for. Without a word, he turned, fully intending to find Bull and down as many pints of that maraas-lok as would physically fit inside him, and then they both heard it. The key turning in the lock of the door.

“What – no!” Dorian cried, running to the door, frantically rattling at the lock. “Miraak, did you do this??”

“No!” Miraak cried, staggering to his feet. “Hold on, I’ll get the…”

The key which Miraak had definitely hung up in its usual place by the door when they arrived was not there now.

“It’s not here,” Miraak breathed. “Did someone… I literally let us in with it ten minutes ago!”

Who the hell was sneaky enough to slip in unnoticed and remove the key that quickly. And proceed to lock him in his own cabin. With the boyfriend who’d just dumped him.

Seething, Miraak strode over to the door, rattling it furiously.

“Whoever the hell did this, you are going to feel the wrath of the Dov when I get my hands on you!” Miraak shouted. “Dorian, stand back. It’s wood, I can break this door soon enough, but it might take the entire front end of the cabin with it. Be out of range. Cullen will shout at me, and I guess I’ll be sleeping in the Chantry, but… ugh, doesn’t matter.”

Dorian was already retreating, guessing this was going to be violent… and then the culprit cackled.

“But then he will leave you, Miraak,” Cesaire cooed. “Your pretty boyfriend, gone forever. Cesaire cannot have that! So Cesaire borrowed your key and has locked you in together until the pair of you have worked out your differences. Do not worry! I will be back in the morning to let you out.”

“You. Little.” Miraak finished the sentence in what was part Dovahzul, part something else entirely, and part that lovely tinkling language Liriel used. “No wonder your last employers beat you!”

Nothing in response but mad cackling, and Miraak rested his head against the door. Dorian stepped closer, wondering what happened now. Well. Most likely option was Miraak Shouting the door off its hinges and going to throttle his valet. Who… was clearly not all there, but a not all there that Dorian could get to like.

_Miraak’s new valet has… locked us in the cabin together until we talk out our differences. The little bastard._

Dorian was willing to bet that was not in the job description, and from the way Miraak had just kicked the door in frustration, said valet would be packing his bags in the morning.

It wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t. Everything was broken and wrong and a disaster, and he’d just lost his boyfriend, who was secretly evil, and yet…

Dorian sank into the chair by Miraak’s desk and couldn’t help but laugh, laughing hysterically because they couldn’t even mutually break up properly. And then to his surprise, he heard it. Miraak laughing too. Miraak with his back to the door, sinking to the floor, laughing his head off, as if this was the funniest thing in the world.

“I am going to murder that little bastard,” Miraak said cheerfully, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Very much going to wring that little bastard’s neck and Shout the bloody remains into orbit for the gods to deal with personally. I’m so sorry, Dorian. Here you were, trying to do the right thing and walk out on the heartless bastard who’s looking to take over the world and turn everyone into his puppets, and my pain in the arse of a valet apparently has other ideas. My apologies. Krosis. Shall we have a drink at least? We both need it. And then you can let me know if you still want me to destroy the front end of my cabin so you can leave while I track down Monsieur LaRose and save the Chantry sisters the job of cremating him.”

Dorian would definitely take that drink. And so Miraak poured a glass of wine, passed it to Dorian and then looked at the bottle, promptly took a swig from it, wiped his lips and then sank to the floor, sitting on the ground, back against the bed, irritably ripping the hair ties out entirely and shaking his hair loose.

Dorian hated himself for seeing this and still wanting to bang Miraak like a door in a storm. _How dare you still be so sexy, you evil, evil bastard. What is wrong with me._

“I’m sorry,” Miraak sighed. “For never telling you. For all of it. I honestly thought she’d never find me. That it would stay dead and buried. I should have known it would not be that easy.”

“When are things ever that easy?” Dorian said wearily, staring into his wine. “I keep hoping I will wake up and everything will be back the way it was with me still believing in you, either that or you will prove to genuinely be an evil bastard like Liriel says you are. I mean, look at you! If you’re going to be an evil megalomaniac, be one. Stop telling me to flee for my own safety and start compelling me with the Thu’um or brutalising me into submission or something. Honestly, you could at least pin me to the ground and refuse to let me leave. At least that’s arousing. Giving up is just insulting.”

Silence, and Dorian looked up to see Miraak’s head lowered, hair hiding his face, slowly shaking his head.

“Miraak?” Dorian asked, starting to worry. “Miraak, what… what’s wrong?”

“The last time my lokaal left me, I did just that,” Miraak whispered. “Screamed. Pleaded. Begged him not to leave. We fought – grappled rather. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I just couldn’t bear the idea of him leaving. I was trying to prevent it when I saw the look in his eyes. Fear. He feared me. He feared for his life. It was the same look in yours tonight, fariiki. Casting defensive barriers and reaching for your staff. You expected a fight and I… it was happening again, all over again. Another one leaving me because I was a monster, with fear in his eyes. Fear of me. The only common feature here is me, beloved. You and Saering never even knew each other. You’re not even that similar. So it must be me. I truly must be a monster, mustn’t I. For the two great loves of my life to both think I’m evil, and want to flee my embrace for fear I’d harm them… I must be.”

Two great loves… Dorian felt the room start to blur because he’d been seeing Miraak for mere weeks, it was far too soon, and yet… underneath that mask Miraak was far more vulnerable than anyone knew, and he’d not troubled to hide it from Dorian. And didn’t Dorian already know that proceeding with caution was just not in Miraak’s nature. If he’d not said the words it was because he was concerned about Dorian’s reaction, not because he didn’t feel them.

Saering must be the other, but what about Miraak’s wife? It couldn’t have been an arranged political marriage, he’d said her death had scarred him.

It slowly sank in that while Miraak was bisexual not gay by his own admission, he’d at no point said anything about his former spouse’s gender. He’d used gender-neutral terms throughout. And Dorian, from a land same-sex marriage was not legal in, had just assumed…

It shouldn’t make a difference. Dorian logically knew that. And yet Dorian had not been able to shake the feeling that Miraak would at some point wake up, see a woman he liked, and follow that easier route instead. The more respectable route. But no. Miraak’s norm had been loving another man and marrying him, and he’d brought that into their relationship the whole damn time. He’d been telling Dorian that one way or another all along.

“Saering was your husband,” Dorian whispered. “And he left you too – but you said he’d died!”

“Yes,” Miraak said quietly. “I saw that look in his eyes and stopped, because I genuinely didn’t know how he could ever think I’d harm him. That was when he took his chance and broke out of my arms, losing his balance in the process. We were standing at the top of a long flight of stone stairs. He… fell. I couldn’t catch up to him. He broke his neck on the way down. He was dead by the time I reached him. I… to this day I still see him lying there.”

Miraak stopped, taking another swig from the bottle and hunching up, arms round his knees, head lowered, face hidden, tears most likely coming again but Miraak doing his best to hide it. And Dorian forgot that Miraak was supposed to be evil. Was supposed to be a bad man who’d enslave anyone who stood in his way. Was worse than the Elder One and he was supposed to be walking out on him. All he could see was a man who, while not guiltless, had been bereaved in horrific circumstances and had been carrying the guilt ever since. For four thousand years.

And tonight had brought all that back.

“Miraak,” Dorian heard himself saying. “Oh Miraak!”

Getting up, Dorian went and sat next to him, draping an arm over Miraak’s shoulders. Miraak didn’t respond but he didn’t push him away either.

“His last words were ‘get away from me!’” Miraak managed to get out. “I didn’t kill him intentionally, I know that, but his death was my fault. He died afraid. Of me. I destroyed the man I love and… now you know. Why I didn’t fight you tonight. I can’t, Dorian. I could destroy you with a word but I won’t. I won’t fight you. I cannot see your broken form before me and know it was my fault, I can’t! I can’t. If you don’t love me, leave. I won’t stop you. I would rather you left than died. Be happy with someone else than be dead in my arms. I cannot go through that again, it will kill me.”

Dorian closed his eyes and pulled Miraak into his arms, knowing he was truly, truly doomed. Because he knew what would await him in Tevinter. A life of drinking to forget, of moving from one anonymous tryst to the next, anything to fill the void within that Miraak’s fiery passion had managed to fill without Miraak even really trying. And likely one day hearing the news some mysterious glowing elf-Vashoth had killed the Herald of Andraste, and… he didn’t know after that. He’d be too dead inside to care… and maybe his own life might not be that long after that.

“Miraak, I’m so sorry,” Dorian whispered. “That’s awful. You poor man.”

Miraak leaned in closer, arms round Dorian, head resting on his chest, face still a picture of misery.

“My heart died with him, you know,” Miraak said, still in that same dull monotone. “That is how I could do the things I did after. I cared about nothing and no one after that. Nothing felt real any more. There was no joy to be had. Everything good in the world died with him. I was already a self-centred bastard. After that was when I became cruel. That was how it started, you know. At his funeral. We gave him a pyre at a place he’d loved in life. I named it Saering’s Watch in his honour. But there was a Word Wall there. I never paid it much attention before, but that day I saw it. A Word of Power. I’d known it was there, but that day I unlocked its meaning, its true meaning. It was the first word of a Shout that could control people’s minds. I realised if I’d known how to do that… Saering wouldn’t have died. I could have just ordered him to stay.”

That was awful too, in a very different way.

“You went to all the trouble of learning a Shout to control people’s minds because you thought it could have saved your husband.”

Miraak nodded.

“Yes, fariiki. I did. Don’t look so surprised. I am an evil monster, remember? I turned to the lord of forbidden knowledge, Hermaeus Mora for help. His price for the second word? Kill a god. Kill one of the Dov. An appalling price – I was their priest! I still believed – I knew their power was real. But I had to know. So I went to the mainland, went alone to one of their lairs, fought the dragon, killed it… and took its soul. I killed it forever. We were always told the Dov were immortal, that even if you killed the physical form of a Dovah, their leader could bring them back. But not this time. I’d taken its soul. It was dead forever. I returned home, spoke to Mora again. That was when he told me what I really was. He told me I was Dragonborn. That was why I learnt the Thu’um so fast. That was why I was the prodigy I was. I was a Dragonborn, a Dovah in human form. I could take their souls, kill them permanently. He told me I had the power of my gods. And because I was a cold, heartless monster, I let it feed my ego. When he told me the price for the third word was rebellion against the Dov, I gladly started one. Alas for me, I was too arrogant. I thought I could go it alone. There were others resisting. They had a plan involving luring the leader to his doom. I thought it was beneath me. I humoured them by giving them a Thu’um to use, one called Dragonrend. I crafted it from my grief for Saering and gave them a weapon to humble even the mightiest Dovah. Its purpose is to remind a Dovah it can be killed and bring it to earth. I suppose it helped. But not as much as my being there would have. As it was, the Dov regrouped, savaged Solstheim, sent another priest to fight me in person in my temple… and on the verge of defeat, Mora snatched me away to his realm in Oblivion. Apparently he wanted a Dragonborn pet. Four thousand years later, and I wanted to go home, and by that point didn’t care who got hurt in the process. I cared about nothing and no one. Until I got here, and realised even I should tread carefully. And bit by bit, all of you, this entire fucking Inquisition, its Council, its people, a Grey Warden called Blackwall who reminds me there’s always a use for good men with swords and your past doesn’t have to define you. A dwarf called Varric who refuses to let me take myself seriously. An elf called Sera who reminds me no one’s so powerful they can’t be humbled. A mage called Vivienne who seems to understand me without me needing to say a word. And then there’s you. My beloved. My lokaaliin. I looked on you and remembered what it was to love. It wasn’t just you. It was everyone. Being back in the world, having people around, helping people and feeling a little burst of pleasure at them being grateful. But all that made it possible for me to see you and know I could still love. Except I’m still the same monster I always was. I’ve lost you like I lost Saering, and Liriel’s coming to finish the job, and I can’t even use the damn Shout I sacrificed so much for. Because the idea of using it on you revolts me. I sacrificed everything for no reason. Solstheim, in ruins because of me. My mortal kin left behind and executed in my stead because the Dragon Cult couldn’t get to me, dead for nothing. My nieces and nephew, the youngest six, the oldest not even twelve, dying in flames, terrified and sobbing and not understanding why. Saering, gone forever and nothing will bring him back. It’s all been for nothing.”

Dorian could only listen in shock, Miraak cradled in his arms, hearing all of it, knowing it was true, it had to be, you wouldn’t lie about all this, and it tallied with Liriel’s tale – with one important exception. Liriel had been the one to uncover his Solstheim plans and foil them, but Dorian was willing to bet she’d not known about Saering. Dorian was willing to bet Miraak had never talked about Saering to anyone. Going slowly mad from grief and suffering and guilt for all that time. Unable to feel because feeling hurt too much. Not healing from any of it until he’d come here.

Liriel had only ever seen a nemesis to be foiled. But Miraak was human and more complicated than that. And Dorian realised he couldn’t just abandon him. Miraak’s big shot at redemption couldn’t end like this. Not with Liriel killing him and Dorian hearing the news from the other side of Thedas and drinking himself to death. That was not how epic tales were supposed to end. Dorian did not like that ending at all.

Dorian’s perfect man was very far from perfect, it turned out, but perhaps that was only fitting. Dorian’s love life had been a disaster since its inception, why should the serious relationship be any different.

“I must be a very bad man,” Dorian said softly. “Because here you are, telling me all these terrible things you’ve done, all these people whose lives you ruined, and all I can think about is the poor sorry bastard in front of me who’s been carrying the guilt from his husband’s death around for four thousand years and is dying inside from it. Who had godlike powers just given to him but didn’t know what they were and had to learn who he was from a demon. Who lost everything, his family, his home, his culture, everything. Who no one has ever taken care of. No one has ever helped. No one has ever taken him in their arms and told him it’s all right, they’ve got him, they’ll look after him. Everyone has just looked at him in fear. Including me. And… I’m so sorry, Miraak. I should have trusted my instincts more. Should have trusted you, maybe. But I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’m still here. I’ll protect you.”

Dorian cradled Miraak in his arms as he said all this, knowing in his heart it would take two to make this work, that Miraak had to genuinely want to do better. But even as he said the last words, he felt Miraak’s grip on his outfit tightening.

“You can’t protect me from Liriel, she will kill you,” Miraak gasped. “There will be nothing left!”

Dorian placed a hand on the back of Miraak’s skull, kissing the top of his head. He’d met Liriel. Had a long conversation with her. Two in fact. She’d seemed to warm to him. Seemed to trust him when she’d not trusted the others. And she’d as good as said she was having to revise the kill Miraak plan. If Miraak wasn’t evil… if Miraak atoned for the past… yes. Dorian could work with this.

“Amatus. Hush,” Dorian said firmly. “Have you ever had a conversation with Liriel? A proper conversation. One that wasn’t just you monologuing at her then trying to kill her.”

Silence from Miraak. This was clearly a no.

“Should I have?” Miraak asked, looking so adorably confused Dorian only barely resisted the urge to kiss him. No. Not yet. Ni tiid… whatever Dovahzul for kissing was. Miraak hadn’t earned it yet.

“Perhaps you should!” Dorian scolded gently. “If you had, perhaps she might have helped you escape from Oblivion in the first place! As it is, I happen to have had the pleasure. She’s a charming woman. And while her original intent was to finish the job, she’s had a chance to reconsider. She said as Herald of Andraste, you were untouchable. And the Elder One needs dealing with, and she knows you’re not him. And while she could certainly fight the Elder One, she’s of the opinion that you’re the one everyone’s going to follow. The world thinks you’re a hero. So that’s what you’re going to be. You’re going to be a hero. You’re going to close the Breach, root out the Elder One, save the world and for once in your life, do the right thing. And I’m going to help you. We all will. This isn’t going to end like before. You’re not alone any more. The Inquisition is about all of us, working together to help people. Including each other. I saw it in the Dark Future, I saw it on our first date and I see it now, that you need looking after too. Perhaps more than any other. The world needs you, Miraak. And it needs you strong and sane and healthy. I can’t just abandon you if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Miraak still had that beautifully confused look on his face. As if the idea of people seeing him for who he truly was and still caring for him was a truly foreign one. Oh god, of course it was, Dorian realised. He’d been hidden away behind a mask for four millennia, not interacting with people at all. No wonder he’d started to see them as things. And then he’d come back to the real world, surrounded by people who were treating him as a person and he’d slowly started to change. To care. Dorian was perhaps the most obvious example of that, but not the only one.

“Liriel… isn’t trying to kill me?” Miraak finally said. Goodness, this man was adorable when he was struggling to get his head round something.

“No,” Dorian said, smiling and stroking his hair. “She’s definitely monitoring the situation but as long as you continue to act like a hero and do the right thing, she won’t kill you. She might even help. Don’t expect her to join the Inquisition any time soon, but it doesn’t have to end in blood. If you can atone for the past… you might even be friends one day. Think about that, Miraak! Friends with the other Dragonborn! The only other person who understands firsthand what it’s like to wield the Thu’um.”

Miraak seemed too confused to really respond to that, but then he actually smiled. Something about that idea appealed.

“I thought her soul might be enough to get me home,” Miraak said softly. “But I did not like the idea of killing her. I would have grieved, I think. I… would welcome the idea of one day being able to have tinvaak with her. If you think it possible.”

Dorian smiled, stroking Miraak’s hair.

“She’s not you, Miraak,” Dorian told him. “I’m not even sure you’re you any more. Not the you that did all that. You have changed, haven’t you.”

Miraak nodded, still staring up at Dorian.

“Geh, fariiki,” Miraak whispered. “Fah hi, lein. For you, the world.” 

Miraak’s eyes flicked to where Dorian’s free hand was stroking his hair, and the other was supporting him, wrapped round his torso.

“You… are not leaving? The Inquisition? Or... me?”

Dorian was going to regret this, he was sure. But not nearly so much as he’d regret the alternatives.

“Miraak lokaali,” Dorian said, hoping he’d got that right. “I’m so sorry for earlier. If it’s not too much trouble I’d like to stay with the Inquisition and help. And if you can forgive me being a colossal ass, I… do still care for you a great deal and if you are still willing to have me, would be honoured to still have a place in your life on a more personal level.”

Faint hint of laughter on Miraak’s lips.

“Your Dovahzul accent is still the funniest thing in Haven next to Bull speaking Qunlat,” Miraak said, finally smiling. “You mean it. You still want me. After all I told you, after everything I’ve done.”

Dorian carefully took Miraak’s shoulder, turning him over so he was lying on his back, lowering him down so his head rested in Dorian’s lap, and Miraak gave no resistance at all.

“I fear I’m going to regret this but yes, I do,” Dorian said, stroking Miraak’s lips. “After all, what is the point of you going to all this trouble to be a hero if you don’t get the handsome prince out of it. Or magister’s son in exile, as it were. Also you’re attractive. Far too attractive. Even when I thought I truly truly hated you, I still wanted to have sex with you. I would have hated myself but I still wanted to. Now I don’t hate you any more, I don’t see the point in denying myself if you’re willing, do you?”

Miraak’s smile broadened and he sat up, turning to face Dorian, kneeling on the floor and taking Dorian’s hands in his, kissing each in turn.

“Yes, my Dorian,” Miraak said, tears in his eyes but smiling, smiling so happily and Dorian felt doom snap into place as he realised he could literally never leave this man now. No one had ever looked at him so purely joyfully before, with so little reserve.

“Yes, please come back to me,” Miraak breathed, leaning closer. “All joy and pleasure is gone from my life without you.”

Dorian leaned in too, closing his eyes as their mouths met in a kiss that made Dorian feel like he could just melt into Miraak’s arms forever, all resistance fading away, surrendering completely, everything he ever wanted all here in this one unforgettable, beautiful man.

“Dorian, amatus,” he heard Miraak breathe as his lips briefly left Dorian’s. “You are everything to me.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” Dorian told him, fighting back tears but unable to keep the smile off his face, because he’d been waiting most of his life for someone to say that to him and no one ever had… until now.

“Does it mean the same as lokaali?” Miraak murmured, in between planting soft little kisses along Dorian’s jawline.

“You never did tell me what that meant either,” Dorian gasped as Miraak’s mouth reached his neck. It was true. It had been the one word of Dovahzul he’d refused to translate, saying only it wasn’t time.

“My love,” Miraak said, reaching Dorian’s shoulder and moving to his collarbones. “It means my love. Lokaaliin is beloved. Zu’u lokaal means I love you. I am saying that to you every single day for as long as we both draw breath, my amatus, my lokaal. Because it is true, and you need to hear it as much as I need to tell you. Because you listened. And you saw me for me. And you gave me forgiveness. I can never repay you for that, so instead I will simply love and adore you and hope it’s enough.”

It was. At least on some level. But he’d loved and adored Saering too once, and it hadn’t been enough to make Saering comfortable with the brutality being dished out to everyone else. Dorian didn’t like the idea either. But… if Miraak was in the business of promising the world… there was something. A childhood memory of Dorian’s. Embarrassing, in a way. But maybe it might amuse Miraak.

“Amatus. Did I ever tell you how I first realised I liked men?”

“No,” Miraak said, kissing Dorian’s exposed left shoulder and sitting back, sensing a story here. “You were fourteen years old, your parents got a new gardener and your life was never the same?”

“Ha! No. I mean, yes, that did actually happen,” Dorian admitted. “But that’s not how I first realised. No, I was younger and it wasn’t sexual at all. I couldn’t have been more than six. My parents gave me Tevinter fairy tales to read. Tales of adventure for young boys in which the dashing hero fights evil, saves the world and gets to marry the princess. Exciting stuff and I lapped it up! Only… it wasn’t the hero I identified with. I identified with the princess. Not that I actually wanted to be a girl, of course. But the thought of being swept off my feet by a handsome hero sounded like a dream come true. I learnt fairly quickly that this was completely inappropriate for a man of my station, and a few years later was packed off to a strict Andrastian boarding school to make a man out of me. Needless to say, it didn’t take, and all these years later, part of me still wants a big strong hero to sweep me off my feet. I’d resigned myself to it never happening. But then I hear about this Herald of Andraste who’s fixing the Hinterlands, has power the rest of us can only dream of, and I think ‘yes, he could help Redcliffe’. You weren’t remotely what I expected. But you’ve been everything I dreamed of. I can’t just walk away from that. I’m not going to be so lucky as to meet another man like you in my lifetime.”

Miraak’s eyes had widened, and then the smile had crept back, and he lifted Dorian’s hand to his lips again.

“You wish me to treat you like the handsome prince among men you are,” Miraak said, nodding. “It will be done, fariiki. You shall want for nothing.”

That was not remotely surprising but it wasn’t quite what Dorian was after… although he could live with Miraak doting on him.

“It’s not just that,” Dorian whispered, hoping Miraak understood this, truly got this, because it was important. “I don’t just want to be treated like a prince. I want you to be a hero. I want you to save the world. I want you to atone for the past by making the future possible. We saw what happens otherwise. Stop that happening. Do that, and you’ll make me the proudest, happiest man in Thedas. I want a big, strong, handsome man to kill the villain and sweep me off my feet. Will you do that for me? For all of us?”

“You want me to make your childhood dream come true,” Miraak said, lips twitching in a smile. When he put it like that, it did sound ridiculous… but little six year old Dorian would have loved the idea of the Herald of Andraste himself paying him attention… telling him it was all right to love men… protecting him from the Chantry brothers who’d beaten him at school. Hadn’t he dreamed of a powerful man descending to wreak havoc on the people who were cruel to him and take him away to be cherished and loved forever.

Dorian nodded, feeling embarrassed about even admitting this, but the part of him that was still that small, scared child was right now stronger.

And Miraak pulled him close, letting his head rest on his shoulder while he rubbed his back.

“Geh, fariiki. For you, anything. I will make you proud. I swear it. Bormahu be my witness.”

Dorian couldn’t even respond to that. Didn’t know how to. He’d come into this cabin convinced he and Miraak were done, and here he was, still in Miraak’s arms, still with his amatus, feeling closer to him than ever.

Miraak wasn’t irredeemable. Miraak _cared._ Miraak cared specifically about him. No. Miraak loved him. Miraak was willing to be a better person, not (just?) because it was the right thing to do, but because Dorian’s approval mattered.

Dorian mattered. Dorian mattered to a demigod like Miraak. Everything was all right. Everything was more than all right.

Dorian had his amatus, and together they’d save the world. Dorian had never been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As if I could split you two up. You pair of big saps. I'm not sure if tiny six year old Dorian reading fairy stories and wanting to be a princess if it meant a big strong handsome man rescued him is canon but it should be! It was too adorable not to include. And explains so much about why Dorian does change his mind. Someone doesn't want to give up on that dream. That and Dorian's fear of ending up single and alone back in Tevinter isn't far off the mark either.
> 
> Next chapter is a bit more talking and bonding, more of Miraak's backstory, the morning after and then the advisors will be wanting an official report.


	11. Divided Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miraak's relationship with Dorian is saved, but Liriel's existence is known now, and his advisors will want answers. Providing them might mean Miraak's downfall... if the Council can find a voice unified enough to condemn him with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second half of the Emotional Conversation, in which Miraak and Dorian discuss their respective families, particularly their respective mothers, and my god, the difference there is stark, isn't it. Trigger warnings for mention of past child abuse and difficult family relationships. Then there's the morning after, and then there's the Council meeting where Miraak fesses up to the team. And that theme of the Inquisition's biggest weakness being no leader crops up again.
> 
> And finally, there's smut! It's right at the end, if you don't want to read of some m/m action, skip out at the point where Dorian tells Miraak he's very pleased and very proud of him.

Cuddling ensued. After all the emotional discussions, neither wanted to move or ruin anything. And then it was Miraak broke the silence, rather awkwardly mentioning that bit earlier where he’d been lying down with his head in Dorian’s lap. That had been nice. Could they do that again.

Of course they could. A bit of rearranging and Miraak was stretched out on the floor, head in Dorian’s lap, eyes closed and smiling happily as Dorian ran his fingers through Miraak’s lovely blonde hair.

“Are you happy there, amatus?” Dorian asked. Miraak nodded, still that hazy smile in place.

“Geh, fariiki,” Miraak murmured. “I wanted to do this for weeks, but never knew how to ask. No one’s done this for me since…”

“Since Saering,” Dorian said softly, hoping this wasn’t bringing Miraak more pain.

“Since my mother died,” Miraak said, smile fading. “Whenever I was worried or upset as a boy, she’d do this for me. It happened less often as I grew up, but until she died, it never stopped, not entirely. I miss her dearly. She died before Saering did, you know. Accidental but I should have been able to save her. Had she lived… I think things might have been different. My heart would not have died with him. She would not have let it.”

Of course Miraak was a mama’s boy. It seemed oddly fitting.

“I’m sorry, Miraak,” Dorian said, massaging his scalp. “If it helps, I don’t think you were responsible for her death any more than Saering’s.”

“My father certainly thought so,” Miraak said bitterly. “He spent enough time after her funeral drinking too much and shouting at me. What use is a Dragon Priest son if he can’t even save his own mother, and I always thought I was too good for this family, didn’t I? Greta marries a Jarl’s son, after I personally intervene in all my draconic splendor to persuade the Jarl to change his mind, and we barely see her in Solstheim again, but somehow I am the one who abandoned his family. Ugh. Maybe he was right.”

“It sounds like he had his own issues, Miraak,” Dorian said, thinking of his own parents then wishing he hadn’t. “It wasn’t your fault! How did she die?”

“Exposure,” Miraak said quietly. “She was on her way to see me at the Temple, you see. Barely half a mile from the village, it’s an easy twenty minute walk on a good day. But Solstheim’s weather was ever unpredictable. The storm came in so quickly… my guards reported the sky turning black. I thought she’d see it in the village and not come. I didn’t know she was already on her way. She never arrived at the temple. We found her frozen to death on the path the following morning.”

Dorian reached for Miraak’s hand and squeezed it, because while his own mother’s death would just bring relief, he was aware that people from healthier backgrounds did actually care about their parents, just as their parents cared about them, and Miraak had clearly been close with her.

“Miraak, amatus, you poor man. But that couldn’t possibly have been your fault! What could you have done, shouted the storm away?”

“Yes,” Miraak said simply. “If I’d known she’d left the village and was on her way to me, I would have done! But I didn’t know. And she died. And my father never forgave me. Then my crimes got him killed. Maybe he was right. I’ve had time to think on it since.”

Dorian said not a word, just holding Miraak as close as he could, slowly realising that when you had the powers of a god, the tendency to blame yourself for everything just intensified. Because there were so many more opportunities to avert disaster, and ‘if only’ had so many more answers.

“I’m so sorry,” Dorian said quietly. “Miraak, you have to know it wasn’t your fault. Your father was looking for someone to blame because it’s easier to blame your Dragonborn son than yourself for not stopping her leaving the village. For all you know he told her it was fine, she’d make it. It doesn’t sound like she’d want you to blame yourself for her death… or Saering’s for that matter!”

“I know,” Miraak said, not looking up. “I don’t think I do. I just miss her dearly. I wish she could have met you.”

Dorian wished she could have met him too. He had a feeling she’d have extended her motherly instincts to him as well. It would have been nice to have someone dote on him. As it is, the Maker had given him Aquinea Thalrassian-Pavus who had all the maternal instincts of a stone, and a series of kindhearted elven slaves who tended to get swapped out right around the time he got attached to any of them. He’d learnt not to after a while.

“I would have liked to have seen a mother-son bond where the two of them actually seem to like each other,” Dorian said wistfully. “We don’t really have that back home. Great houses of Tevinter don’t get married and have children. They form alliances and breed offspring, all looking to produce the perfect mage, the perfect leader. My mother was chosen for my father because of her bloodline’s rich magical power and never mind that the two of them despised each other. All the misery is worth it for their precious son and heir. Alas, they got me. Be careful what you wish for, eh?”

“Why would they not want you?” Miraak said, confused. “You’re intelligent, magically powerful and beautiful. What is not to love?”

“Because I wouldn’t marry the woman they picked out and produce lots of little baby Pavuses,” Dorian said, voice hardening. “Ironically, I wouldn’t mind being a father, I just… can’t face having sex with a woman to do it.”

 _We’ll adopt._ Miraak did not say it out loud. Dorian might not appreciate it. But Miraak decided there and then if they ever came across an abandoned or abused mage child, that child was theirs if it wanted to be. Either that or some sort of surrogate mother. But not right now. Not yet. Far more important was finding out just why Dorian was estranged from his family.

“You can’t help being who you are, Dorian,” Miraak said, rubbing Dorian’s thigh. “It is their loss.”

“Maybe,” Dorian said softly. “But do you want to learn just how I found out identifying with the princess in story books was bad? My mother found out, dragged me by the ear into my bedroom and beat me soundly with a slipper, all the while shouting at me her son was not going to be some effeminate degenerate like that perverted Tilani. Of course, in later years, I sought said Tilani out and now she’s one of my dearest friends. But there’s nothing like your mother beating you to make you aware just how deviant you are.”

Dorian became aware of a definite change in the atmosphere, in fact the air felt… charged somehow. And then Miraak sat up, turning to glare at him, face twisted in wrath and his eyes… literally turning black with magic. That wasn’t good.

“Your mother fucking _what?_ ” Miraak said softly, dangerously. Oh god.

“Miraak, it wasn’t that bad,” Dorian said hastily, trying to calm him.

“THE FUCK IT WASN’T, DORIAN!” Miraak roared, the entire room going dark apart from the eldritch light coming from Miraak himself, and his voice rattling the windows. “YOU WEREN’T EVEN SIX, NO MAGIC EVEN, AND SHE DID THAT?? For what? Playing? I only got hit about three times my entire childhood and I was being a little shit every single time.”

“Miraak, it’s done,” Dorian pleaded, wishing he’d never said anything. “I’m fine, really!”

The magic faded, the room returning to normal, but Miraak was still shaking his head.

“You’re not fine, Dorian,” Miraak said viciously. “You’re really not. If I ever lay eyes on that woman… I’ll craft a Shout just for her, just to make her suffer. Welts that never heal or something.”

Dorian reached out and stroked his cheek, hoping it would calm Miraak somehow.

“Miraak, if you start plotting revenge against everyone who ever hurt me, you’ll have no time left to fight the Elder One,” Dorian told him. “Please. Let it go.”

“She’s your mother, Dorian,” Miraak said, still glaring. “It is not all right. I would never treat a son of mine that way. He wants to play at being a princess, fine. If he wants to actually be a girl… fine. I have no idea how that works over here but I would find out.”

“Is there a Shout for it?” Dorian asked, dying to know the answer to that one. Miraak actually looked like he was seriously considering this.

“Maybe. I will have to think about it,” Miraak said thoughtfully. Then he looked back at Dorian, placing an arm around him.

“Fariiki. I am here for you. You will be loved and taken care of, I swear it. They will regret ever casting you off. They will come begging your forgiveness.”

Dorian found that unlikely but who knew. Reaching for Miraak, he pulled him into a kiss. His parents were going to be scandalised enough once word of their relationship got to Tevinter. Having an overprotective boyfriend willing to descend on his foes like the Maker’s Wrath would be just the thing to help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Morning and Miraak woke with Dorian cuddled up next to him, still asleep. The sleeping arrangements had been a matter of some debate, with both arguing the other should have the bed, they’d sleep on the floor or something. Apparently while sleeping in a tent had been fine, Dorian seemed to think this was different. A boundary too far somehow.

Miraak had pouted. And Dorian had given in but made him promise to keep his underwear on. And so it had proved, and nothing untoward had happened and they’d both slept well.

Apparently if you took your mask off and looked a certain way at one’s lover, they gave in and did anything you asked. Miraak hadn’t really thought of that before. He’d have to experiment with that more often.

But it was morning. All was quiet. Dorian was here. Dorian still loved him. Miraak closed his eyes, smiling. He still had his lover. He’d nearly lost said lover. Dorian’s face as he’d drawn his staff, barrier spell flaring… he didn’t want to think about it. It was enough he was still here.

Kissing Dorian’s cheek, Miraak rolled over, feeling a little too warm in what was a surprisingly warm room – had the servants been in already to do the fire? Clearly someone had, it was burning away nicely. How’d he not heard anything??

And then he noticed the vase by his bed with an embrium flower and a handful of crushed elfroot leaves scattered over the bed, including one in his hair, for Daedra’s sake. It did smell nice. But why??

Then he saw the cabin key by his bed and the note.

_To His Worship Lord Miraak,_

_I have been in and made myself useful and as all seems to be well with you and Ser Dorian, have returned your key. I have told the catering staff you will be requiring breakfast for two this morning as well, and removed your clothes for cleaning. I have also taken Ser Dorian’s outfit as it has demon ichor all over it, and is a little charred. They will be returned this afternoon after I have cleaned them. I would have supplied spare clothing for Ser Dorian but his quarters appear to have none. Do not fret. I have estimated his measurements from his clothes and will be asking Ambassador Josephine to source some spares for him. I assume you will be happy for your own clothing allowance to cover the cost. As it is, I have retrieved all his personal effects that were still there and brought them here for him. While Cesaire would never presume to tell the Herald his business, it would be more convenient for all concerned if perhaps Dorian vacated that room permanently._

_Do let me know if humble Cesaire can be of any service!_

_Cesaire LaRose_

Little… Miraak could not imagine why he was smiling at the little man’s antics, but apparently Cesaire wasn’t a complete liability. Also Dorian’s absence of spare clothes meant he’d have to stay a bit longer. Miraak’s were unlikely to fit him although he’d look adorable in that oversized Avvar coat of Miraak’s. And of course, it would be far more convenient for everyone if Dorian did just move in. Miraak certainly wouldn’t mind.

 _I wish Monah had met you, lokaal._ It would certainly have sorted the clothing problem out. Ranna Skinweaver would have taken one look at Dorian One-Outfit, gasped in horror, and gone to work immediately. Alas Miraak had not got her skill with a needle… but it was just possible Cesaire might.

Miraak supposed that meant his valet got to live after all. He had saved Miraak’s relationship, hadn’t he.

Miraak still had a boyfriend. Who knew what he’d done and loved him anyway. Or at least, believed he could do better and was going to help. So much blood on his hands… and Dorian still felt he could be a hero.

Harknir Hrongarsson would likely have disagreed. They’d not agreed on much by the end, but Miraak these days wondered if his father had been right. He’d certainly deserved better than the traitor’s death intended for Miraak. He never even got a proper burial. None of them had.

He couldn’t bring any of them back… but maybe he could make it up to them. Four thousand years later, maybe Thedas could hear their story and pray for them.

Getting up, Miraak reached for pen and paper and began writing, not stopping until he heard Dorian getting up.

“Ugh… Miraak? Where… what are you doing? Why is there elfroot all over me? Did you get the flower?

“No, Cesaire did, probably stole it off the alchemist,” Miraak sighed. “Apparently he’s pleased for us and in addition to returning the key, did the fire and took our clothes for cleaning, and breakfast is on the way. He also packed all your things and brought them here… and noted you have no spare outfit. Fariiki. When were you going to tell me. And also had you thought about laundry arrangements at all?”

“Cesaire was here? I slept through it?” Dorian said, rubbing his eyes.

“As did I. He is apparently very quiet,” Miraak said. Considerably more so than most Inquisition servants. He had no idea who’d trained him but clearly Cesaire was a man of some skill.

“Right… wait. I have no clothes except the underwear I slept in,” Dorian said, belatedly realising the problem. “Miraak! It’s cold out there!”

“I will lend you clothes,” Miraak promised, amused. “They will not fit and you will look ridiculous but you will be warm. I am also ordering you more clothes. Don’t protest. You need at least one spare set. Store them here if your quarters don’t have space.”

Silence from Dorian, and Miraak glanced over to see him reading Cesaire’s letter.

“Cesaire just ordered me clothes on his own initiative,” Dorian said, disbelieving. “Does he… did you… does he think we’re married or something?? He’s your valet, not mine!”

“What’s mine is yours, fariiki,” Miraak said softly, feeling a little snubbed by that. “You need the clothes. I’m happy to provide.”

“And… move in here permanently??” Dorian cried. “We’re supposed to be… oh god. I haven’t even… Maker, Miraak. I don’t want to impose on you!”

“It is not imposition, it would be an outcome long sought,” Miraak said, turning in his chair to watch Dorian. “You know I will provide for you. You know I consider it part of my role as lord of this strunmah… and your lokaaliin. What does it say about me if my known mate is walking around in just one travel-worn set of clothes?? A man is judged on this, Dorian! They will think I’m cheap! Or that I do not care!”

“It’s not your job to take care of me, I’m a grown man,” Dorian sighed. “I’m trying to be independent and make my own way in the world. To earn my keep. I’m not… I don’t want people thinking I’m taking advantage of your generosity. And neither of us want people thinking Inquisition supplies and donations are getting spent on your Tevinter lover rather than the cause.”

“Do you wish to be known as One-Outfit Pavus instead?” Miraak asked wearily. They’d had variations of this argument so often by this point, Miraak wasn’t even angry, just resigned. “A word to Varric, it can happen.”

“You wouldn’t,” Dorian breathed. Miraak just grinned.

“You evil bastard,” Dorian gasped, shaking his head. “I will have you know my room back in Qarinus has a walk-in wardrobe bigger than this house.”

“Alas for it not being here,” Miraak purred. “Should I write to your parents and ask them to send the contents here in return for me taking their son off their hands?”

“NO!” Dorian cried. “They won’t thank you for that! They’ll come here to retrieve me if you do that!”

Miraak looked forward to that discussion already. But they were distracted by breakfast arriving… along with a spare set of mage armour from the latest loot haul, fitted out for Dorian to wear. Apparently someone had thought to see what was already available.

“Will you wear that at least?” Miraak asked after the servants left. Dorian grinned, got up and pulled it on.

“Yes. And they got me breakfast too! Miraak, I… thank you. And thank Cesaire too. You aren’t going to shout at him too much for last night, are you?”

“I can forgive him,” Miraak said, shrugging. “At least a little. And it’s good you have clothes now. I need to brief the Council. I’ll need you there. I need to tell them something about Liriel. Not everything. But they need to know to watch for her. And… that she’s not necessarily an enemy.”

Dorian reached out and took Miraak’s hand, smiling at him so perfectly beautifully, all other thoughts flew out of Miraak’s head.

“The Herald of Andraste displaying mercy and sense,” Dorian said proudly. “Well done, amatus. Now let’s eat! I’m starving and will never turn down free food.”

Miraak said nothing, turning to his own breakfast. This being heroic was not going to be easy. Everything in him wanted to tell Cullen to have Templars on watch for her at all times and incapacitate on sight.

But she was the only other Dragonborn, and part of Miraak didn’t want her to die. And if Dorian smiled at him like that more often, what wouldn’t he agree to.

Perhaps this being a good person thing had its upsides.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

After breakfast, time to brief the Council and without the usual robes, the next most outrageously recognisable thing in his collection was not a set of mage armour but spoils of a Qunari Tal-Vashoth raid – a full set of Shokrataar armour.

“Help me with the straps,” Miraak said, holding the pauldron in place. Dorian did so, marvelling not for the first time just how strong Miraak was.

“You’re seriously wearing this??” Dorian said, disbelieving. “These things weigh a ton!”

“All shall behold me and fear,” Miraak intoned, grinning as he posed. Not many people expected mages to be fully trained in how to wear heavy armour. Miraak was going to surprise a few people.

“Won’t you be cold?” Dorian asked, already shivering. Miraak shook his head.

“I am a Solstheimer,” Miraak said, reaching for the mask which did not go with this at all, but no help for it. “This is nothing.”

Maker save them both from Miraak’s apparent immunity to the cold but there was no help for it. Dorian could only follow as Miraak swept imposingly up to the Chantry, noting as heads turned to see the large Qunari warrior and then see the mask second and whisper ‘bloody hell!’ to themselves. Dorian felt rather proud. Yes, yes, his boyfriend was not only half a foot taller than everyone else, he was also ripped under the mage robes. And Dorian got to get up close and personal to him. Dorian really did feel rather proud.

At least until they got into the Chantry and Vivienne spotted him.

“Miraak, darling, really. Did you look at yourself in the mirror at all this morning? Dorian, what were you thinking, letting him out of the house like that?”

“Bold of you to assume he listens to anything I tell him,” Dorian sighed. “His usual robes are being cleaned after surviving the Fallow Mire and he picked this. He was getting his fair share of admiring glances.”

“There is nothing wrong with this outfit,” Miraak said, preening. “All shall admire me.”

Vivienne shook her head wearily.

“The mask doesn’t match at all. Have you considered removing it? I keep hearing tales of you unmasking more often and you were going without it when we camped. Consider removing it in Haven as well.”

Miraak sighed, reached for his head and removed the mask, clipping it to his belt and shaking his hair loose.

“Better?” Miraak sighed, and Vivienne’s eyes widened.

“Much better, darling,” Vivienne purred, getting herself under control. “The Herald of Andraste needs to look properly imposing at all times, my dear. Don’t worry about people seeing your face. With that on, no one will be looking at that.”

“She’s right,” Dorian admitted. “I can’t take my eyes off the muscles. I think others will react similarly.”

“Including Cullen, you think?” Miraak said, amused. Well, perhaps that was going too far.

“Perhaps he’ll be too uncomfortable to tell you off,” Dorian said, already looking forward to this.

The council room was empty when they first entered, but Josephine’s office door closed and then she bustled in, all brisk efficiency… at least until she saw Miraak on the other side of the table and actually gasped, going bright red and looking away, holding her clipboard.

“Sir! You cannot be in here! This room is off limits to unauthorised personnel! And… and could you please put a shirt on.”

Josephine was the one Council member who’d never seen his real face, wasn’t she.

“It’s all right, Ambassador,” Miraak said, reaching for the mask and holding it up. “I’m allowed to be here.”

“Oh! My goodness! I – I had no idea, you virtually never remove the mask, I… I’m so sorry! Were you planning to unmask more often?”

Miraak glanced at Dorian, who was struggling not to laugh, then back to Josephine. 

“Yes, I’m thinking about it. Dorian’s persuaded me there’s much to be gained from interacting without it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he wears a shirt next time,” Dorian promised. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Good morning, Dorian,” Josephine said primly, positioning herself so Miraak wasn’t in her direct line of sight. “Were you intending to attend these more often?”

“Heavens no! Miraak is making me attend this one. He wants to talk about the elf we met in the Hinterlands. Ataasha.”

“What about her,” Leliana said, walking in and smiling knowingly at Miraak, eyes looking him up and down but saying not a word. “Cassandra seems to think she’s an enemy of the Inquisition. I have to say, I’ve found very little on her. A few reports of sightings here and there, but nothing concrete.”

“I’ll explain,” Miraak said, lowering his head. “Once. Where are the other two?”

Cassandra and Cullen walked in together, and Cassandra gasped and uttered a prayer to the Maker, while Cullen had to look away, exclaiming for Miraak to put some clothes on for Maker’s sake.

Miraak grinned smugly at Dorian, who just grinned back.

“Mission accomplished,” Dorian told him, as Cullen eventually composed himself and positioned himself just out of Miraak’s line of vision, while Cassandra closed the door and started fidgeting awkwardly. “Seeker. His face is up there.”

“I wasn’t-!” Cassandra gasped but she did adjust her angle of vision. “Keep your opinions to yourself, Tevinter.”

“Charming,” Dorian sighed. “Anyway. Ataasha. Did you want to start, Miraak?”

“Yes, let’s get this over with,” Miraak sighed. “Cassandra and Dorian met her, the rest of you will have had Cassandra’s report. I know Dorian refused to make one until he’d spoken to me. That has now happened.”

“You should still have reported what you know in earlier, Dorian,” Cullen said, eyes narrowed.

“She spoke to you, and only you, in private for the best part of half an hour!” Cassandra snapped. “We don’t know what was discussed, only that you were not the same after. You were unhappy, irritable, sombre, like a man in mourning. And yet you spoke to no one. Why. What did she tell you. Did she tell you how she learnt Miraak’s voice magic, that no mage here has been able to replicate.”

Dorian was about to answer when he felt Miraak’s hand on his, a reassuring presence even as he felt mana rising, just a little. Electricity in the air, not visible yet, but the magic of the Skyborn children of Atmora starting to make its presence felt.

“Seeker. I will tell you. Leave Dorian be. She’s a High Elf. You won’t have encountered one before, because she is not from here. Her true name is Liriel and she is from the same land I hail from, the far island of Solstheim. You will not have heard of it, do not bother looking. She is the only other living Dragonborn in existence. And she is here because of me. She followed me here. She is not an enemy of the Inquisition, but we are not friends. When the Breach was created, she and I were both in Oblivion, fighting to the death. I am embarrassed to admit she was winning. I still believe my Thu’um stronger but her magic is deadly. You are right to fear, but she’s not here for you, nor is she working for the Elder One. She’s here to bring me to justice.”

“Justice?” Josephine was the first to whisper in the silence that followed. “What did you do?”

“That doesn’t matter!” Leliana cried. “He’s our Herald! We need him! He’s the only one who can close the rifts!”

“With another Dragonborn, not any more,” Cassandra said, watching Miraak very carefully. “She asked for the words of power you use to seal them. We did not know she was Dragonborn as well. She likely now has that power too.”

“The Inquisition troops are already loyal to the Herald, even if we break their faith in him, the effects on morale won’t be worth it,” Cullen snapped, still glaring hatefully at Miraak. “And they’re not going to rally round some strange elven mage they know nothing about. I hate to say it but we’re stuck with Miraak.”

Leliana smiled in response, even if Josephine still looked uncertain and Cassandra was definitely judging him.

“She may be Dragonborn, but she’s not our Dragonborn,” Leliana said proudly. “I’ll have Inquisition agents out looking for her. Did you want her… dealt with?”

“NO!” Miraak cried, surprising even himself with how shocked he felt. “No, gods no, do not risk Inquisition personnel fighting her. She’s one of the most dangerous people you’ll ever encounter. I want her watched if you can find her but do not attempt to engage. Liriel is my fight, my problem. So far, she has not attempted any attack on us. Let us keep it that way.”

“But… what did you do?” Josephine whispered. Dorian’s hand on his and Miraak could see he owed his ambassador an answer.

“I told you I was fighting her in the Fade,” Miraak said, lowering his eyes. “I was not passively waiting for rescue like a maiden trapped in a tower. I was working on an escape plan, one years in the planning. And then word reached my ears of another Dragonborn. I already had allies in Vus. They sent assassins to deal with the pretender. Alas for her power being real. The attempt on her life brought her to Solstheim and she was able to foil my plan. No matter. Once I knew her, I could follow the call of her blood and partially manifest near her when she killed a dragon and take the soul instead of her. I learnt many Aldmeri profanities as a result, but the power gain was real. She came after me in Oblivion eventually. We fought. I knew if I took her soul, I could get free. Killing her did bother me… but I wanted my freedom. I was done being a Daedra’s pawn. Also she’d stopped my other plan. I had few options left. Until the Breach opened, and I took my chance. Apparently Liriel wanted to finish the job.”

“She’d murder another Dragonborn just for revenge?” Cullen said, frowning. “The only other living one?”

“Mention the rest of it, Miraak,” Dorian said, voice a warning. “Tell them your original plan. Liriel had good reason to stop it, didn’t she? Even without the attempted murder.”

Gods damn it, he’d hoped to get away without telling them that part. He could already see Josephine cutting ties as a result. 

“There are these sacred magical stones on the island,” Miraak said quietly. “I took control of them with my Thu’um, used them as amplifiers from the other side of the Veil. Compelled the entire population of the island to work on them, building the shrines I could use to open the Veil long enough to return. Of course she put an end to it. And of course she couldn’t just let go. She had to make sure I wasn’t attempting the same somewhere else. So here she is. And here I am. And now you know. I’m no better than this Elder One. I might be worse. You all know the right thing to do is hand me over for execution. Are you going to? Your Templars could stop my magic, you know.”

Silence round the room, Leliana staring at the table, Cullen at the ceiling, Josephine quietly praying, and Cassandra - Cassandra’s hands were on the table, shaking.

“Cullen, call them, we’ll have him back in the cells,” Cassandra said grimly.

“Arresting our own Herald?? What does that make us look like??” Cullen demanded.

“We can make sure none of this leaves this room,” Leliana said, determined. “What is the word of one elven mage worth. Very little when I am done.”

“Leliana!” Josephine cried. “Do you realise what you’re suggesting?? We can’t turn the world against someone who is merely trying to do the right thing!”

“The right thing is fighting the Elder One!” Leliana snapped. “We don’t even know if Liriel intends to do that or even cares about what happens here after she’s killed Miraak!” 

“Leliana’s right,” Cullen said quietly, and it must be killing him to side with Miraak for once. “We can’t sacrifice our one hope of sealing the Breach. Miraak’s here willingly and helping. We don’t even know what this Liriel might do. Even if she can seal rifts, we have no offer of help from her.”

“Then we compel her if we have to,” Cassandra said firmly. “She must see it’s the only way.”

“How?” Cullen cried. “If she has the same power Miraak does, we’ve got no way of forcing compliance!”

“There must be some way of negotiating with her!” Josephine pleaded.

“How, we don’t even know where she is,” Leliana said, grimacing. “My agents are finding only trace reports!”

More raised voices, angry arguments, everyone going round and round in circles, and Miraak stepped back, suddenly feeling a sense of relief wash over him as he remembered Josephine’s words of before, that they needed him. And here he was, confessing everything and… the rest of the Council were too disunited to even get round to arresting him.

“Dorian, shall we go to the tavern?” Miraak said, amused. “Maybe they’ll have reached a decision by nightfall.”

“You mean you aren’t enjoying the circular arguments?” Dorian asked, laughter in his own eyes. “I’m just waiting for Cassandra to hit Leliana and end up in the cells alongside us.”

“They won’t arrest you, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Miraak said, arm round his really rather attractive boyfriend.

“Perhaps I’m joining you anyway,” Dorian said, sliding am arm round Miraak. “Life is so dull without you. I’ve waited years to meet a man who finds the same things funny I do, and understands my warped sense of humour. I’m not leaving just because you have an unfortunate past. You’ve promised not to do it again and to attempt to atone by saving the world from the Elder One. That’s all you can do! It’s all any of us can ever do! What more can anyone expect from you? What purpose would killing you now serve. We need you!”

The room had gone quiet and Miraak looked up from cuddling Dorian to see all four of them listening in.

“Atonement would serve,” Josephine whispered, breaking the silence. “Maker, it doesn’t have to be death. The Inquisition is your atonement.”

Miraak paused, then nodded. They did not need to know just how he’d viewed them all in the early days.

“Yes,” he said softly. “All my power as Dragonborn ever brought me was death and ruin, for me and my loved ones. It feels different using it to help people. As if I am finally treading the right path for once.”

“Inquisition operations would suffer immensely if you left,” Cullen said, a smile actually starting to appear. “Look, as far as I’m concerned, Solstheim isn’t our problem. And you’d been stuck in the Fade for over ten ages. You can’t have been in your right mind. No one could.”

He sounded almost like he knew what that felt like. Strange. As for Miraak, he was fairly certain he’d been sane and known exactly what he was doing at the time… but looking back, he wasn’t so sure. His feelings on, well, everything had changed since being back in the real world. People had started feeling like people, not tools. The mask felt less like part of him and more like a weighty responsibility which needed laying down occasionally.

“If we can track Liriel down and talk to her, maybe we can persuade her to help,” Josephine was saying thoughtfully. “Dorian, you spoke to her! What was she like?”

“Reasonable,” Dorian said, remembering her and thinking that under other circumstances, they might be friends. “She did say she was reconsidering the execution plan. She’s been researching the Elder One too, and she knows Miraak didn’t cause the Breach. She wasn’t pleased, but she did tell me that she could hardly kill the Herald of Andraste and not look like a villain herself. So she’s watching and waiting. To see what we do next. I say we keep you around, and I’m not just saying that because of the utter tedium of being here without you either. You seal the Breach and save the world, and then Liriel will have no choice but to admit you’re not all bad and go home.”

“Well said. _I_ like that idea,” Miraak purred, glancing round the room and seeing agreement now Josephine had made her mind up. Of course, Cassandra was still glaring at him.

“I see any evidence that you are mind-controlling anyone here, or any innocent civilians, and I will act, Miraak,” Cassandra said firmly.

“I would expect no less,” Miraak said, trying not to look smug and failing. He didn’t even need Bend Will, it turned out! Just a silver-tongued Tevinter boyfriend. “And if you still have doubts, I have something else. I believe I met her husband and his sister in the Fallow Mire. They were there to get a first-hand report of my activity, no doubt. They’re witches of the Reach. Powerful mages. And what you would call maleficarum. The blood magic you all fear so much? Every Reachman of any significant magical talent and status knows it. We literally called them that in Dovahzul – the Sosinne. Blood witches. They were allies and co-religionists but you always took their power seriously. And their female leaders frequently make Daedric pacts and merge with a crow Daedra to gain power and longevity. I am certain his sister was one such. The illusions gave it away. So. If you still prefer to work with Liriel, keep in mind her husband’s a blood mage and his sister an abomination. Me? I was just an angry and desperate man eager to escape a demon’s clutches who went too far.”

That stopped them.

“She knowingly married a blood mage?” Josephine whispered, looking like she was about to be sick.

“It is not as taboo back home,” Miraak said, shrugging. “Few trust the witchmen, but rituals involving blood aren’t necessarily illegal. Trafficking with Daedra is, but this abomination is clearly cunning and knows to hide her true face. That makes her more not less dangerous. Still, blood magic mind control never worked on Dovah, and therefore not on a Dragonborn either. They are her allies. The marriage tie is also likely genuine. We interfere with her Reachfolk allies at our peril. But do not think she is necessarily better than I am.”

Cassandra was glaring at the war table, clearly hating every single option before her… and then she nodded.

“It is in no one’s interest to have a suspected blood mage linked to the Inquisition. We must investigate further before we can place any trust in this Liriel. We do at least know Miraak. For all his faults, we know he’s committed to the cause. I… suppose the idea of atonement is not a bad one. The Chant teaches forgiveness after all.”

Miraak hadn’t thought it’d be that easy – of course, it wasn’t. There was still plenty to do. But his advisors had his back. That meant something. That meant almost as much as Dorian forgiving him.

The meeting dispersed not long after, with not much more business to settle other than updates on the Breach-sealing, which was nearly upon them. Unless Liriel turned up at Haven, Miraak couldn’t give her any further time. But there was one thing.

“Josephine,” he said, producing the paper he’d been working on earlier from his pocket. “Can I make a request?”

“Of course, what is it?” Josephine asked, surprised. 

“This. It’s a design for a memorial stone. We’d erect them for our loved ones in their memory. I’m not proposing a full sized word wall. But my parents, my brother and his family, they died untimely deaths. I’d have them remembered. If I can.”

“Herald, of course, it’s no trouble!” Josephine said, taking the paper to have a look, scanning the text and gasping.

“The other language is Dovahzul but the meaning’s the same,” Miraak said awkwardly. “Can I have them in both? If you copy the text faithfully, there should be no trouble. The dates of death and birth make no sense in your calendar, so I just put their ages when they died.”

“In memory of the kin of Miraak, long departed. Ranna Skinweaver, beloved mother, aged 57 at death, killed by the harsh weather of winter. Saering Twice-Grown, beloved husband, aged 32 at death, fell to his death on the Temple stairs. Harknir Hrongarsson aged 62 at death, Halbard Harknirsson aged 40 at death, Svetla Fanarisdottir aged 39 at death, Annalies Svetlasdottir aged 11 at death, Ranmir Halbardsson aged 9 at death, Saara Svetlasdottir aged 6 at death, father, brother, sister-in-law, nieces and nephew, executed for their kinsman’s sins, burned alive in dragon fire.”

Josephine had to stop, putting the paper down, and Leliana took her in her arms even as Cassandra picked the paper up to read the rest.

“May your names not be lost to the winds of time, and may your souls rest at our Father’s side. What happened to them, Miraak?”

“Before entering the Fade, I was a priest in the religion of the time,” Miraak said, not looking up. It was enough to know Dorian was there and rubbing his back. “We worshipped the dragons. At least, I did until I discovered I had their powers and need not answer to any one of them. I led a rebellion. A rebellion that failed, and it would have meant my death if the demon I’d been trafficking with had not taken me to the Fade. They executed my kin instead. Yes, including three innocent children and an old man. The Dov know little of mercy.”

“You were a priest for the Tevinter old gods… but you’re not a Tevinter and you always said your home was cold and mountainous,” Cullen said, frowning.

“The Tevinter Empire covered all inhabited Thedas at one point and brought its foul cult with it,” Cassandra said firmly, passing the design back to Josephine. “It was not merely ethnic Tevinters who served. The mountain Avvar likely did as well. Why would Miraak not be one such? The renegade priest who rebelled before Andraste did and whose rebellion was put down with such force none remember it today, and who was trapped in the Fade ever since.”

Cassandra looked up, seeing Miraak with new respect.

“If Tevinter renegades serving the Elder One are trying to restore Tevinter that was, why would the Maker not send one who’d stood against them before. Maybe that is why you are here.”

It was not anything like that glorious, and it wasn’t Tevinter he’d rebelled against either. But Miraak liked this story and if it was one they chose to tell rather one he’d invented, so much the better. 

“It wasn’t Tevinter I rebelled against. My own land had its own version of Dragon worship. But if that is what you wish to tell people, I have no objection. Just don’t put this out as the official Inquisition story. Let Leliana spread it as a rumour instead. The best stories take on a life of their own anyway. Does it mean I get my memorial for my kin?”

Agreement all round on that one, Josephine promising she’d set to work commissioning something immediately if she was allowed to raise funds for it, and Cullen promising the men to help install it somewhere. 

It was just Leliana who’d said nothing, still staring at the Dovahzul.

“What is it, Leliana?” Miraak asked, and then an unlikely possibility occurred to him. “Wait. Do you see any of the words… calling to you?”

“What? Oh. No. But these runes… I’ve seen them! They’re on Avvar inscriptions in the Hinterlands. They’re also on some of the passages underneath the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Are you telling me the runes are Dovahzul? The dragon language that your voice magic uses?”

“That cult survived until only a few years ago when the Hero of Ferelden wiped them out, they were worshipping a dragon at the time. We thought them mad, and perhaps they were, but… if they possessed knowledge of Dovahzul, or their ancestors did, do you think they really did have lore from the Old Gods’ days? And do you think… do you think your land’s Dragon Cult was where Tevinter got the idea from?” Cullen asked, finally taking an interest. Miraak didn’t blame him. The whole thing had definitely caught his attention.

“Get me a copy of what they inscribed, and we will find out,” Miraak purred, intrigued. “I will translate as best I can. Unlike most languages, Dovahzul does not change, just as the Dov that speak it do not change. If you wish something to last the eons, that is the language you use. Yes, Leliana. I will look at these runes for you.”

Leliana looked delighted, promising in return to start getting word out the Herald had not just fallen out of the Fade but had ended up there as a result of rebelling against the old gods of Tevinter ages before Andraste. 

“After all, if we have ancient Dovahzul carvings right here in Haven, it’s not even a lie,” Leliana said, amused. 

The meeting broke up and Miraak was left alone with Dorian, glancing awkwardly at his boyfriend.

“I didn’t anticipate them taking my backstory and doing that with it, but I’m not stopping them,” Miraak told him. “Don’t worry. The Inquisition is not officially acknowledging any of this.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to, but you know this is going to enrage Liriel,” Dorian said, grinning. “Not to mention the Elder One. And the Chantry, my goodness! And… my goodness. My parents. My very Andrastian parents. At some point they are going to learn their son is involved with a man everyone saying is a former priest of the Old Gods. You’ve just killed them, Miraak. You’ve just ensured the shock kills them both.”

“Krosis. I’m a bad man, I know,” Miraak laughed, clearly seeing Dorian wasn’t entirely serious. “Did you wish to scandalise them? You’re succeeding. I feel no guilt over this, but you might.”

“Oh, Tevinter needs it,” Dorian laughed, turning Miraak to face him and wrapping arms round his neck. “Anyway, you’re a _penitent_ Dragon Priest. You suffered for rebelling against the Old Gods. By the time Leliana’s done, you’ll be the hero who fled into the Fade to escape, snatched away not by a demon but by the Maker, to be kept safe until such time as the world needed you. And now it does. I’m already very pleased and very proud of you.”

Miraak felt Dorian in his arms, saw the emotions in his eyes, saw that smile, and his own emotions threatened to overwhelm him, and suddenly he wanted more. Well, hadn’t he always. But until now, he’d been content to wait. No longer. He wanted more, wanted Dorian’s lips on his, wanted Dorian against the wall, legs wrapped round him, his hand down Dorian’s pants, getting him hard, making him cry out, and getting to his knees to finish the job.

“I want you,” Miraak growled, before pulling Dorian to him, lips on his, picking him up and pinning him to the wall, grinding into him so Dorian could get a good idea of just what Miraak was feeling. He was rather pleased to find Dorian was already getting hard, and was not only not pushing him away but holding on to him, kissing him back, and then Dorian’s fingernails dug into his back and Miraak shuddered.

_Yessss. Harder. More!_

He stopped kissing Dorian, moaning into his shoulder instead, keeping on thrusting up against him, more than capable of coming from this alone if he let himself.

“I want you,” Miraak repeated. “I love you. Please. Let me give you pleasure. Let me touch you!”

“Yes,” he heard Dorian finally, _finally,_ whisper. “Yes, do it. I’ll tell you to stop if it’s too far.”

Good enough. Miraak was fairly certain Dorian would not in fact object to this. Few did. Reaching down, he cupped Dorian’s already growing bulge for a few moments, before unlacing him and finally curling fingers around him. Far too long since he’d had the chance to do this, but Dorian’s sinful moans made it all worth while. A few thrusts, getting Dorian harder, glancing up at his face as his head tilted back and Dorian gasped in ecstatic delight, and Miraak knew, just knew, he was going to treasure this man for life.

“Yes, my Dorian,” Miraak hissed in his ear. “You are so beautiful right now. You want this. You want me to give it to you.”

Dorian hesitated, cheeks going scarlet, face scrunching up almost as if he was in pain. He’d gone too far, hadn’t he. Gods damn it.

Miraak loosened his grip, just a little, and then he felt it. Dorian’s fingers entwining in his hair, and Dorian nodding.

“Yes. Yes, I want more.”

Miraak grinned and kissed the crease where neck met shoulder, nipping him slightly, reaching down to unhook Dorian’s legs from his waist and letting Dorian take his own weight again. Tasting Dorian’s lips again, gently nipping his lower lip then stepping back and getting to his knees. Time to finish off and show Dorian what being loved by a Dovahkiin truly meant.

Dorian’s shocked gasp as Miraak took him in his mouth was something Miraak would treasure forever. Miraak worked him slowly, carefully, closing his eyes, getting off himself on hearing Dorian’s moans, feeling fingers entwine in his hair and Dorian pushing his head down, thrusting himself, fucking Miraak’s mouth and Miraak could only smile in response. He’d known Dorian would love this.

_I’d whisper sweet nothings for you all night, fariiki, but you want something else, don’t you?_

“Maker, I’m a bad man,” Dorian gasped, but at no point did he stop. “I shouldn’t enjoy this… but I do. Ungh, god you’re good at this.”

Of course he was. It wasn’t something you forgot. Closing his eyes, he could only moan as Dorian thrust into him, sucking on Dorian in turn, just making Dorian move faster.

“Going to… going to come,” Dorian gasped, speeding up and loosening his grip on Miraak’s hair. “You need to stop now if you don’t want…”

Miraak did want, and reached behind Dorian to get his hands on that fabulous backside, bringing him closer by force and Dorian did cry out then, grabbing Miraak’s shoulders and gritting his teeth, trying to keep the noise down as he came, Miraak’s head cradled in one hand as he grabbed Miraak’s shoulder.

 _Yes, yes yes come for me!_ Miraak caught Dorian’s come in his mouth and was delighted to realise he still remembered how to do this, swallowing it down quickly because frankly it was just the easiest way. Dorian was slowly withdrawing, sliding down the wall and Miraak kissed the head of his cock once as it left his mouth, before catching Dorian in his arms.

“Was that all right?” Miraak murmured, kissing Dorian’s cheek, smiling even as he knew the answer to that was yes.

“Maker have mercy,” Dorian whispered, slumped in Miraak’s arms. “I am a bad man.”

“So am I,” Miraak laughed in his ear. “We’re doing nothing to be ashamed of.”

Dorian was shaking his head, head resting against Miraak’s chest. 

“Having sex in the war room? What if the others had walked in??”

“Leliana would have been pleased for us and left before we even knew she was there. Cullen and Cassandra are both adults and would cope. Josephine… All right, I would feel guilt over that.”

“So you should,” Dorian said sleepily. “That poor woman does not deserve walking in on this. That, Miraak, was several levels of obscene. No one can ever know the Herald of Andraste _swallows._ ”

“No one will,” Miraak promised, kissing his forehead. “I seek no one else.”

Dorian snuggled in closer, not saying anything. Miraak started to worry he’d upset him somehow. But no. It turned out Dorian was just feeling a little emotional. Apparently he wasn’t used to sex with emotions involved.

“We’re not taking things slowly any more, are we,” Dorian finally whispered. “I mean… I think I’m all right with that. If we get to do that again, I… I will be a very happy man. Only… maybe in the cabin next time.”

The cabin. Not Miraak’s cabin. Just the cabin. Theirs now. Just as Dorian was Miraak’s now. He had been before, of course. But now he was that bit closer. Miraak had made Dorian come inside him, and now Dorian was his. Just as he was Dorian’s and always had been.

“Geh, fariiki,” Miraak promised, cradling Dorian to him. “Anything that is mine to give is yours now. I promise.”

Dorian shivered in his arms, but did not move. Not denying him any more, it seemed. Good. About time. 

“Don’t say things like that, amatus,” Dorian said softly. “I might end up taking you up on it. We might both regret it.”

“I regret many things in my life,” Miraak told him, loving the way Dorian felt in his arms, all smooth skin and firm muscle. “But never loving someone.”

Dorian’s silence said that perhaps he’d regretted that all too often.

“I will give you no cause to, lokaali,” Miraak said firmly. “You are my lover, my lokaal. You will regret nothing about loving me.”

“Oh, I already do,” Dorian sighed. “But there’s no help for it, is there. I had my chance to leave. I didn’t take it. Because it turns out I believe in you and would follow you anywhere. Even without being involved with you. That just makes it all the more potent. I think I’d have developed an unrequited crush on you anyway. Knowing you feel the same… it’s too much and at the same time I can’t stop. Maker help me. I’m doomed.”

Miraak held him in his arms, knowing he was not going to stop smiling about this for a long time, if ever. Dorian loved him back. Dorian wasn’t leaving. They were lovers and the sex was going to be amazing. And once they were finished in bed, they’d save the world. Together.

_The stories will tell of Dorian at my side, and they will speak of him as my lover. Not my sidekick. Not my friend. Not my most beloved disciple. My lover. My husband. If he’s willing. One day._

Drem, Miraak. Ni tiid. That was something that definitely could not be rushed. He’d need to ask if it was legal first. It hadn’t seemed to be a thing in Tevinter from what Dorian had indicated. And he’d seen few if any same-sex couples here, although the Inquisition was not representative of family life being mostly composed of ex-Chantry and Circle people sworn to celibacy, and single people who’d volunteered their services. He’d need to investigate. But perhaps it didn’t matter. When he was done, the world would be remade to his preferences anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Miraak's legend grows as his story gets told again with an Andrastian slant, this time biased in his favour. Liriel's gonna be fuming.
> 
> Next chapter, Miraak tracks Cesaire down, Bull gets to see Miraak without the mask, and Dorian gets to chat to Krem, who it turns out he's got more in common with than either suspect - similar backstories... and they're both stuck minding two overpowered idiots.


	12. Oversized Idiots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The afterglow doesn't last long as Inquisition business intervenes... and while Dorian would never use his influence over Miraak for his own gain, apparently he's willing to use it to make Miraak be a better person, much to the chagrin of a certain valet who'd been hoping for blood. Meanwhile Miraak's tired of going masked in his own strunmah, and an audit of people who've not seen his face leaves one in particular who perhaps deserves a formal unmasking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! More fluff than plot, and it's fairly light-hearted. Warnings for discussion of matters sexual, especially towards the end. Also Bull being Bull.

They’d sat there for about fifteen minutes in the end, cuddling and talking and kissing and generally not wanting to move, but eventually Dorian had regained the use of his muscles and Miraak was starting to get restless, so Miraak had helped Dorian up and they’d decided to get some air. At least until Dorian had seen the deep red scratch marks on Miraak’s back, obvious for all to see with the Shokrataar on.

“Maker, Miraak, you need to heal those! You can’t walk around with those on your back!”

“Why not,” Miraak said, feeling rather proud of them. “I’m not ashamed. Let them look and know I have someone who desired me enough to leave them.”

“Miraak!!!” Dorian cried, rubbing his forehead. “You can’t… please. For me. Heal them up for my sake, amatus. I can’t have people thinking I’m abusing the Herald of Andraste!”

“They won’t think…” Miraak sighed, before it occurred to them they might think that and that would mean trouble for Dorian. “Fine, fine. I’ll heal them.”

One spell and it was done, and Miraak was putting an arm round Dorian.

“Next set you leave are staying once I have robes to cover them,” Miraak said firmly. “Bite marks. Scratches. Anything else you leave in the heat of passion. It stays.”

Dorian shivered, eyes looking up to Miraak’s with a slight shake of the head.

“You are a bad man,” Dorian told him, but there was a smile there. “Shall we?”

They left the room, left the Chantry hand in hand, both at ease with the world… until Miraak saw the little redhead having an animated conversation with Leliana in her tent.

He had unfinished business, didn’t he.

“YOU!” Miraak roared, letting Dorian go and striding towards the tent. Cesaire promptly shrieked and dived behind Leliana’s storage chest. To Miraak’s surprise, Leliana got to her feet, folding her arms and staring up at Miraak with no fear in her eyes.

“He’s under my protection, Miraak,” Leliana said firmly. “You aren’t hurting him.”

“Did he tell you what he did?” Miraak snapped, staring over Leliana’s shoulder to where Cesaire was peeping out from behind a solid wooden trunk.

“Saved your relationship from what I heard!” Leliana cried. “He wouldn’t say what you were arguing about although I can guess. But Dorian was fully intending to leave you for good and Haven too until Cesaire locked you both in the cabin to talk. I see it worked out well for you both.”

It was almost like she knew what they’d got up to in the war room after the meeting. Ah well. No matter. That Dorian had known the full story and was still standing by him told its own tale, and was obvious to all.

Miraak still glared at Cesaire.

“He pulls a stunt like that again, I am running him out of Haven personally,” Miraak tersely informed her. “As it is… his intervention was helpful. I suppose… I suppose he can stay.”

Cesaire’s head poked up above the chest, looking hopeful.

“Cesaire is forgiven?” Cesaire said brightly.

“Of course you are,” Dorian said, holding out his arms. “Isn’t that right, Miraak?”

Gods damn it. Miraak supposed Cesaire’s other skills made him useful. And so he assented and Cesaire actually squealed and ran into Dorian’s arms, cooing and purring as Dorian hugged him.

“Thank you, kind sir Dorian!” Cesaire trilled. “Cesaire will make it worth your while!”

Dorian ruffled his hair and had the nerve to smile up at Miraak. 

“We are keeping him, aren’t we?” Dorian said, looking a little too friendly with the valet for Miraak’s liking. “He’s such a sweet little chap.”

“He is a valet,” Miraak snapped. “Not here to provide sexual services to either of us. Ever. At all. Whoever else he wishes to chat up is his business.”

“I would never dream of molesting your valet, Miraak,” Dorian laughed, letting Cesaire go and patting him on the back.

Cesaire actually seem pleased with that, stepping back from Dorian and beaming at Miraak, resemblance to Saering back in full force. That… actually hurt. Because he wasn’t Saering. Not at all. Just… similar.

“Is Ser Dorian moving in to the cabin permanently?” Cesaire asked innocently. “His things are already there. It would be no trouble to inform the caterers and launderers for you and get an additional key cut for him.”

“We’ve not discussed…” Miraak began, glancing at Dorian, but Dorian was looking at Cesaire and looking very thoughtful.

“Yes,” Dorian said, nodding. “Yes, I’m moving in. You can have my old bed, if you like!”

Miraak hadn’t actually thought Dorian would willingly say yes. He thought he’d have to either wait for weeks or months, or just pester him into it. But Dorian had apparently changed his mind in one morning?

He should have given Dorian an orgasm sooner.

As it was, Leliana seemed pleased and Cesaire squealed, and Miraak took his boyfriend into his arms and hugged him.

“What changed your mind?” Miraak had to ask. “You were against the idea this morning.”

Dorian smiled, arms round Miraak’s neck. 

“I’m just giving in to the inevitable,” Dorian admitted. “My things are already there, your bed’s really rather comfortable, I will never turn down free food or the use of your very talented valet, and… I really feel your absence when you’re not here. Not that we need to be joined at the hip or anything. And I know you’ll have important Inquisition business to attend to and you won’t always need me along. But… when you are here… I’d just like to have you around. It’s ridiculous, you know, acting like we don’t care and don’t matter to each other when it’s blatantly obvious the reverse is true. Yes, Miraak, I am quite happy to move in with you. No one ever asked me that before. It was never possible. Now it is and… well… I’d be a fool to turn it down, wouldn’t I?”

Miraak held Dorian to him, kissing his forehead and cuddling him. He loved this man with all his heart. About time Dorian finally started admitting his feelings.

He was barely aware of Cesaire cooing and promising not to worry about a thing, Cesaire would make all the arrangements, Dorian need only go to the cabin and make himself at home, everything else would simply happen.

And then he was disturbed by one of Leliana’s agents coming in with a report, and Leliana inhaling sharply.

“No – you’re sure?”

“Sure, Nightingale. Butler’s turned on us. We’ve got evidence he was involved in Farrier’s death.”

“He was one of my best agents,” Leliana whispered, sadness in her voice before it hardened. “And knows where the others are. You know what must be done. Make it clean. Painless if you can. We were friends once.”

The agent nodded, about to take his leave, and Miraak was all for letting Leliana kill a traitor… but Dorian was squeezing his hand.

“Do something,” Dorian whispered. “Stop her, she’ll listen to you!”

“Stop her doing what?” Miraak hissed. “If there’s a traitor in the ranks, getting rid of him’s a good idea!”

“Mercy and sense, Miraak!” Dorian whispered. “Rule of law! We don’t just summarily execute people if we’re being heroes!”

Gods help him. 

“You heard Leliana, he knows where our other agents are, he’s a liability!”

The agent and Leliana had both paused, watching the conversation with interest – or concern in Leliana’s case.

“Stabbing!” Cesaire squealed, looking _delighted_. “Cesaire is very pleased to see the Inquisition dealing with traitors appropriately.”

What the bloody hell… Miraak had never thought to see that level of demented bloodlust on a face that looked like Saering’s and he hoped never to see it again.

“Not appropriate!” Dorian was saying. “Wrong! At least give him some semblance of a trial! A chance to explain himself.”

“A trial??” Leliana cried. “We don’t have the luxury of that! He’s killed Farrier! And has intelligence on the others. I condemn one man to save dozens!”

Well obviously they couldn’t just let him go free. But… for gods’ sake. Miraak couldn’t just say no to Dorian either.

“Can we arrest rather than kill,” Miraak sighed, really not sure about this one, but what the hell. He could always order the execution later. “Questioning him might yield useful results. Knowing who turned him and why might be beneficial. Obviously, if he resists arrest, you won’t have a choice. But that will be his choice, not ours.”

Leliana huffed angrily, turning away, hands on the desk.

“Dorian’s good opinion is clearly important to you. I hope you’re not letting it sway you unduly,” Leliana said, eyes narrowing.

All right, that was a comment too far. 

“Dorian’s a better person than I am,” Miraak said, folding his arms. “Him swaying my decisions can only be a good thing. As it is – give this traitor a chance to atone. If he fails to take it, that it his problem. Leliana, you all gave me a chance to prove myself. Do the same for others.”

Leliana pursed her lips then nodded.

“Perhaps it’s not just Dorian’s opinion that’s changing you,” Leliana said, clearly watching him carefully. “Very well. Agent. Lure Butler into a trap then arrest him. Bring him in alive, if you can. We’ll want to question him.”

The agent nodded and left, and Leliana returned to her work, clearly done with company for the day. Miraak bid her good day and left, hand in hand with Dorian, who was smiling at him.

“Well done. I’m proud of you. One decision at a time, remember! We’ll make a Dovahkiin hero out of you yet.”

“You’re not worried about having too much power over me?” Miraak asked, raising an eyebrow. “Leliana’s comment not bothering you at all? You’ve previously been afraid to commit precisely because you don’t want to be seen as some grasping social climber.”

“Persuading you to prevent unnecessary deaths is not remotely the same as using you for my own advantage and you know it,” Dorian said, squeezing his hand. “If I have influence over you, then let it be for good reasons. We’re meant to be restoring order and doing the right thing, yes? Not ordering assassinations left, right and centre.”

“No stabbing?” 

That was Cesaire, who was apparently following behind them in silence. He sounded… disappointed.

“Not this time,” Miraak told him, turning to look at his confused valet. “That bothers you??”

Cesaire was supposed to be a humble servant, easily frightened and in need of protection. Not… whatever the hell he’d seen on the man’s face earlier.

“Ye- no? Not exactly?” Cesaire said awkwardly. “Only… that was very merciful of you, sir. Cesaire has heard stories, you see. Some of them paint you as a terrifying warlord who will slaughter anyone in his way. But… you are being merciful. Cesaire was surprised, that is all.”

Had Liriel been spreading stories of her own? Worrying for them to have reached his valet’s ears.

“Believe what you see, Cesaire,” Miraak told him. “Pay no heed to idle tavern gossip. I am in interested in dealing with the Elder One. That is all.”

Cesaire nodded, expression turning serious for once as he watched Miraak carefully, and then his eyes slid to Dorian as he started to smile.

“Of course!” he laughed. “Of course. Forgive me. Cesaire meant no disrespect. I should attend to arranging Ser Dorian’s permanent move into your accommodations, should I not, my lord?”

“Yes. You do that,” Miraak said, starting to wonder about Cesaire. He seemed mostly harmless but… someone with a history of domestic service and no combat skills should just not be that bloodthirsty. He bore watching.

“He is very odd, isn’t he,” Dorian said, watching him go.

“He’s…” Miraak glanced in Leliana’s direction and started to regret not vetting Cesaire more closely. But no, not now. Leliana was in no mood to be disturbed right now. “He’s worth keeping an eye on. I think… hmm. Just be careful what you tell him. I’m starting to wonder just who his previous employers were and if he’s entirely what he seems.”

He’d seen no sign of magic and Cesaire just wasn’t the battle-hardened warrior type. But when fearing Miraak might hurt him, he’d gravitated to the spymaster for aid. Interesting. Was he formerly employed as a bard, like Leliana? 

Was he still, was the more pressing question. But without proof, Miraak could do little. If Cesaire had intended harm, he would have done so by now. All the same… one to be watched.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dear Listener,_

_I have infiltrated the organisation, made contact with the target and established myself in a position of trust, with all the access I could ask for. Were this a conventional operation, the job would be done already and I would be on my way home._

_Alas for this not being so. It is as you feared. The target is showing signs of a conscience._

_The pretty boyfriend has raised the target’s past with the target and nearly left him over it. I intervened and locked them both in close quarters to talk things over. I had a theory the pretty boyfriend was behind the changed behaviour, at least to some extent, and I was not wrong. They have resolved their issues, the target is claiming he is a changed man, and the pretty boyfriend has declared his dearest childhood wish was to be swept off his feet by a handsome hero. The target has decided to grant this, and has come to the conclusion that in order for this to happen, he needs to be… heroic._

_I believe he may have briefed his council on at least some of this earlier today, judging from comments his spymaster made. I also firsthand witnessed him offering mercy to a traitor in the ranks. He persuaded the spymaster to arrest rather than assassinate. I am extremely disappointed in him._

_I am even more disappointed in him stating explicitly no sexual services will be required of me for either him or said pretty boyfriend. How dare he. I shall have to seduce the Qunari instead, there is no help for it. You might find the reports of interest, the magic we use to translate the Thedosian trade tongue will work nicely on Qunlat._

_It does not work on Dovahzul. The spirit refuses to look in Miraak’s head. It’s too bright apparently?_

_On another note, I can report I have befriended the spymaster, who was very kind to me after I confessed I had locked the pair of them in the target’s cabin to save them from themselves, and immediately offered her protection. I have availed myself of it. She would make an excellent Sister, you know! Only I fear choosing a pseudonym so close to my original name was a mistake. She knew it somehow. Or has known someone with that same name. I said I was named after my long-dead uncle. Not only did she believe this, it endeared me to her somehow. I don’t know why. I am concerned, and think we need to look for people connected to her with that name. They may be dead, of course. But I think she knew someone called that once and misses them. A lead maybe._

_But to the main topic. Much as it pains me to write this, I fear… that is… I fear we will have to call off the assassination. There is no Black Sacrament so Sithis does not require it. I will leave the final decision with you as always, Listener, but the reformation you feared was happening does appear to be genuine. The Inquisition like and respect him and follow willingly, although he is not officially leader. However, gossip seems to indicate that without him present, nothing gets done and key decisions do not get made. Bull in particular seems to think the Inquisition’s biggest weakness is no official leader. I asked him if Miraak wasn’t leader then, and Bull shrugged and said he wasn’t officially… but maybe he could make a good one. I think he might be right._

_Awaiting further instructions!_

_Cicero_

Cicero Di Rosso finished writing the letter on Miraak’s writing desk, rolled the paper up and inserted it into a cylinder then opened the window of the cabin to admit the raven he’d just discreetly freed from its cage earlier. The Inquisition’s communications had turned out to be laughably easy for the ruler of a kingdom home to a great many shapeshifter mages to intercept, and the Reach-King probably knew more about the Inquisition’s movements than the Council did by this point. 

“Hello,” Cicero whispered, patting the raven and affixing the cylinder to its leg. “Fly, my pretty, and take that to the King and Queen! It’s important!”

The raven cawed once and flew off, and Cicero closed the window behind it, before going to add another log to the fire. Couldn’t have Miraak knowing his writing desk was being used for spy reports for the other Dragonborn, could he now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Miraak and Dorian had headed back to the cabin for lunch, both resolutely ignoring the bed because if either of them acknowledged it was even there, they’d never leave the cabin all day.

Still, Dorian had one question for Miraak.

“So… are you going to unmask in Haven now as well?” Dorian asked, glancing at where the thing had pride of place on the table.

“I’ve walked from the Chantry without it today, I might as well,” Miraak said, shrugging. “I did a Council meeting without it. And of the others I know, the only ones who’ve now not seen my face are Sera, Solas and Bull. I don’t care about Solas. Sera practically lives in the tavern, we have drinks there tonight, that’s her done.”

Which just left Bull. An awkward one, that. But… Dorian found himself warming to the man. Bull meant well. Even if he was still a Qunari. Plus since this morning one source of irritation was now gone.

“Something Bull said while we were at the Hinterlands bothered me. No, nothing like that, you don’t need to worry. He said we clearly had a good thing going, and the smoking hot sex with my smoking hot Herald couldn’t hurt either. Except we’d had none of that, not really, just kissing and fooling around and… I missed you very much in that moment, and wished I could just get over myself and get it over with and I’d probably enjoy it. And… now we have. And I did. And it was nothing like I expected. You’re not like I expected. I need to think about this. And we need to talk about it more. But we’ve had sex. And we’re going to do it again. Which means I can finally look Bull smugly in the eye because I’ve had something he’s not getting, namely you. I think that means I am fine with you unmasking for him. Only I want to be there when you do it. I want to see his face.”

More than reasonable in Miraak’s mind.

“Let me get some swords. I have an idea.”

And so it was that Miraak, resplendent in his Shokrataar gear and with his tentacle sword on one hip and a Qunari blade on the other, mask in place, sought out Iron Bull, Dorian following.

“Iron Bull!” Miraak announced cheerfully. “What would you say to a little sparring match?”

The eye nearly popped out of Iron Bull’s head.

“Wha- is that Shokra-taar gear?? Damn! You can move and fight in that?? You realise that is the full armour worn by the Beresaad, right? The Arishok himself has a set of that. It takes years to train to wear and it’s only given to the skilled.”

“I’m skilled,” Miraak purred. “Did you want to find out firsthand?”

Dorian just rolled his eyes, motioning for them to go off and have fun, and Miraak cast Ebonyflesh and practically scampered off to the training grounds, Iron Bull in hot pursuit, and soon the two of them were at it, circling round each other before one or the other would strike, only for the other to parry.

Leaving Dorian alone with Bull’s Tevinter second-in-command, Krem. Who was a heavily armoured soldier but a few inches shorter. Clean-shaven too. Dorian wished he could get his own cheeks that smooth. Maybe Cesaire’s legendary shaving would do the trick.

“So. Krem, isn’t it? Always a pleasure to meet a fellow countryman.”

“Is it?” Krem asked, raising an eyebrow. “Most of the ones I’ve met lately have been Venatori. Hardly a pleasure meeting them. Always fun killing them though.”

That was true enough.

“Same here, Krem, same here,” Dorian said, eyes sliding to where Miraak was duel-wielding like he’d done it all his life. “Still, can’t be easy, being the only one. Especially when your boss is an actual Qunari. How on earth did you end up working for him?”

“I left Tevinter years ago,” Krem said, eyes narrowing at Dorian. “I wasn’t sorry to go. Turns out being true to myself and being part of the Tevinter army weren’t compatible. That’s how I met Bull.”

“What, fighting the Qunari??” Dorian asked, more confused than ever.

“Hardly!” Krem laughed. “I wasn’t in the army at the time. I’d had to leave. I was on the run, made it to the border, ran into these Tevinter recruiters who soon figured out I was a deserter. They were going to make an example of me. That’s when Bull walked in. He saw me on the floor, intervened – gave up his eye doing it. Didn’t even know me. Big horned idiot.”

“And you’ve been together as mercenaries ever since – that’s rather sweet, you know. You’re not romantically involved, of course.”

“No,” Krem said tersely. “I prefer women. Look, if you’re trying to be my friend, don’t bother. You’re a magister’s son, and my father ended up going bankrupt and having to sell himself as a slave to the Tevinter government. We’ve got nothing in common. You could always make nice with your parents and go home. I can’t. I’ve got nothing left to go back to.”

That stung. Even if it was… wait. It wasn’t. Not exactly.

“Perhaps being true to myself and being a magister’s son weren’t compatible either,” Dorian said softly. “Perhaps me going back is conditional on me marrying some magister’s daughter when I can never feel anything for her. Perhaps… perhaps a big idiot with the Thu’um charged a demon to the ground because it looked the wrong way at me when he didn’t even know me either. I know it’s not the same, but we’re both exiles for not entirely dissimilar reasons and we’re stuck with those two oversized idiots. You realise it’s a sparring match today, and a drinking contest tomorrow, and guess who will have to pick up the drunken mess and get them home? It’s us, isn’t it. Can I apologise in advance? I think the Atmoran people Miraak belonged to were hard-drinking barbarians. Mostly he’s a lot more than that but every so often I think he wants to revert to type.”

“Ah, don’t apologise,” Krem said, hostility seeming to recede as he re-appraised Dorian. “You left because you couldn’t get married? Huh. Same here. My mother was trying to set up a marriage with the son of some merchant. Would have saved my father from slavery. I couldn’t go through with it either. She’s barely spoken to me since. Joining the army and sending part of my wages home was my way of trying to make it up to her. Didn’t work, and then I had to leave.”

“A merchant’s _son?_ ” Dorian said, confused. “Why would they try to make you marry a merchant’s son? Since when has that been legal??”

And then the penny dropped. Oh. Oh! He was crossgender! Like Mae!

Krem had hissed, clearly realising his cover was blown, and Dorian realised he’d better explain. Quickly.

“Wait, it’s fine, I understand, one of my closest friends back home is the same – except she’s a woman. And also a magister. That’s raised no small amount of controversy, I can tell you, but gender is no barrier to lawfully granted magisterhood and apparently it’s legal for one to live as a woman even if her birth certificate says otherwise. I suppose that doesn’t really help you.”

“Not really, I’m still a soporatus with a criminal record,” Krem said, but he seemed less wary. “All right. You’re not all bad, for an altus. I guess we’ve got the loudmouthed idiots in common if nothing else.” 

Krem held out his hand, and Dorian took it without hesitation, shaking hands and realising he’d made a friend. Amazing! He’d always thought he was terrible at it, but here he was befriending Krem. Because they were both stuck with overpowered oversized idiots with a tendency to charge in first and think later.

Dorian looked over to where Bull was duelling Miraak and realised he didn’t feel jealous any more. He was just happy Miraak was happy, because it turned out Miraak apparently needed someone to spar with and drink with, and Dorian wasn’t really cut out for either role. Not the quaffing pints type of drinking Bull went for anyway. 

_I can’t meet all his needs. I shouldn’t try. Not that that means we’ve got an open relationship by any means, but it’s good for him to have other loved ones._

Dorian’s reverie was broken by a cry of pain from Miraak as Bull finally broke his guard, sending him staggering back, and then the Shout sent Bull reeling.

“FUS!”

Not the full Shout. Interesting. But it got Bull away from him, and then Miraak got up, sheathing his swords and healing himself.

“Well done,” Miraak said, surprised. “Clearly I’m out of practice.”

Dorian hastily ran over, because Miraak in pain wasn’t something he enjoyed.

“Amatus!” Dorian cried. “Are you all right?”

Miraak nodded, holding out a hand to Bull, who put his axe away and took it, before pulling Miraak in for a hug and back-pat.

“You got some good moves there, boss. Don’t think I didn’t notice you were holding back though.”

“I don’t actually want to kill you, you know,” Miraak said, patting Iron Bull’s back and stepping away. “In the field, anyone facing me faces my magic and my Thu’um as well. For this? I just wished a little entertainment.”

“Well, you want a rematch, hit me up, you’re fun to spar with!” Bull laughed. “You fight like a Qunari, you know. And you are rocking that armour, just saying. Get you some horns, you’d look like the Arishok.”

Miraak held out an arm to Dorian and put an arm round him. 

“Shall I?” Miraak asked. Dorian nodded, seeing Krem approaching as well, heavy boots crunching on Haven’s snows. Might as well get this over with.

Miraak let Dorian go, reached for the mask, and pulled it off, shaking his hair free, hand on his hip and grinning because the bastard knew, just knew, he was something special.

“You’ve earned the right,” Miraak said cheerfully. “From this day, I no longer go masked in my own strunmah unless I want to.”

Bull’s eye had widened in surprise, looking Miraak over appreciatively.

“Damn,” he said, whistling. “Hey boss, would you be at all offended if I said you were one hot piece of ass?”

“I’m what??” Miraak gasped, face going scarlet, and his eyes shot back to the mask, clearly fighting the urge to put it back on and flee the scene. Dorian decided now was the time to intervene.

“Yes he is, but he’s a monogamous one,” Dorian said, arms sliding round his waist. “Perhaps we can leave the sexual objectification to me, hmm?”

Miraak had automatically pulled Dorian closer, subtly positioning him so he was in between him and Bull, something like an emotional shield. Well, wasn’t that cute.

“And you didn’t even set fire to anything this time, well done Vint-Boss,” Bull said, approving. “Listen, I know the score. You two are exclusive and I can respect that. But if you two ever decide to open things up, let me know. I am down for a threesome with you two. Seriously. You’re both sexy as hell.”

Dorian had not seen that one coming at all, and for once could say not a word. He just knew he was blushing, knew it, and even Miraak pulling him closer didn’t help.

“If we’re ever in the mood to take you up on that, I’ll let you know,” Miraak said, somehow managing to keep control of himself, and Bull took his leave, Krem following with his head in his hands. Stuck with their idiots indeed.

Miraak’s self-control lasted until Bull was out of hearing range and then he finally dissolved into laughter, head buried in Dorian’s shoulder.

“It’s not funny!” Dorian cried. “For goodness’ sake, Miraak! I’m not having a threesome with you and Iron Bull!”

Miraak just laughed harder, shaking his head, before leaning up again and kissing his forehead.

“Then it won’t happen,” Miraak said cheerfully. “Fariiki, I’m not pushing you into anything you’re not happy about. I am not certain I’m happy about it either. Ugh, Bull and I would end up constantly fighting over who topped. It will not be him.”

Dorian felt his heart sink. Miraak was a top. He knew it. He’d known it, he’d always known it, sex with Miraak would no doubt be hot as hell but leave Dorian feeling constantly… trapped.

_It’s not me. I’m not a bottom. I’m…_

Memories of fucking Miraak’s mouth and knowing that, that was who he was, the bastard who got off on making a Dragonborn kneel for him.

Maker help him, had they gone through all this just for sexual incompatibility to kill things off.

“Dorian. You are quiet. And something is bothering you. Tell me what is wrong.”

The urge to childishly snap no back at him rose up in his brain, but Dorian repressed it. They could at least talk like adults about this, couldn’t they?

“You’re a top, aren’t you,” Dorian sighed. “Knew you were too good to be true.”

Odd silence from Miraak, and Dorian glanced up to see him looking baffled.

“I was on my knees for you this morning, entirely willingly, and you think that?” Miraak asked, raising an eyebrow. “I switch, fariiki. For Bull? No. I’m not giving him the pleasure. Any sex I might ever have with him would be a fight for dominance, likely destroying an entire room in the process, and the victor essentially forcing the other to come. For you?”

Miraak leaned closer, the tip of his nose nuzzling Dorian’s ear.

“You can have whatever you want, my love,” he murmured in Dorian’s ear, that sensuous fucking voice making Dorian’s cock twitch even though he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to come again. “For you, I’d submit. You don’t need to hurt or punish me. You can have what you want just by asking. Or not asking. I told you I wouldn’t fight you. I meant it.”

Dorian felt the world practically shifting on his axis as he grabbed at the leather straps on Miraak’s chest.

Miraak on his knees. Miraak doing as he was told. Miraak letting him fuck him. Miraak’s wrists tied to the bed. Miraak in a fucking collar, and if Miraak fucked Dorian, it was because Dorian happened to want it that evening.

“We need to talk,” Dorian finally gasped. Miraak nodded, gently nipping at Dorian’s ear.

“Yes we do,” Miraak agreed, running a hand down Dorian’s back. “Is that what was bothering you all this time? You’re a top who was afraid I was too and you didn’t know how it was going to work?”

Dorian admitted that might have been a thing, yes.

“You’ve been breaking down my barriers and wearing down my resistance since we met, why would our sex life be any different?” Dorian sighed. And Miraak pulled him closer, rocking him gently in his arms.

“I would never want you to feel uncomfortable,” Miraak murmured. “I just wanted you to stop running and admit how you felt. Now I know and… how can I not give you what you want, hmm?”

Dorian closed his eyes, hands moving over Miraak’s muscles without Dorian’s conscious volition, and then he realised that more than anything else, he wanted Miraak’s armour off him and to finally, finally get his hands on Miraak’s no doubt splendid erection.

“Miraak,” Dorian finally managed to get out. “Can we go back to the cabin and get that box of Leliana’s out? I think it’s time we stopped let it gathering dust under the bed when we clearly want each other rather badly.”

“In my arms,” Miraak hissed, bending down to scoop Dorian’s legs up and walking briskly back to Haven, carrying Dorian back there so as to get to bed faster.

Dorian held on, knowing people were staring but not caring. He was going to bed Miraak. Properly. It turned out Miraak wasn’t a top after all, but a switch who’d do anything for the one he loved.

Time for Dorian to find out just how deep that promise ran.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Days later, and when they finally emerged from the cabin, much talking had happened, plenty of other things had also happened, a lot of knowing looks were being shot their way… and Miraak was back in the mask after all.

“You could just heal them.”

“No! I like having marks there. I just wish my robes were less low cut without the mask.”

It turned out there had been a collar in there after all, a three inch wide, black leather one with a steel ring on the front, just perfect for guiding Miraak around and moving him into position. The thing had barely come off since… but Dorian had been adamant it was staying in the cabin, hidden away. The rest of the world did not need to know Miraak would willingly surrender power in private.

Too bad Miraak didn’t seem to care.

“Amatus, you’ve got the imprint from the collar and two lovebites, please heal them,” Dorian whispered. “You know I don’t require you to keep or show off marks on your skin.”

“I like having them there,” Miraak repeated, toying with the leather wrist restraint still on his left wrist, just visible under the edge of his gauntlet. They’d finally agreed Miraak could wear that as a reminder. 

“When I’m under your command, I’m not hurting anyone,” Miraak had said quietly, with the saddest eyes Dorian had ever seen, and Dorian had given in. Perhaps it was best the mask stayed on, the last thing they needed was this happening in public. 

“Maybe we can see if Cesaire’s up to making you a scarf or something,” Dorian sighed. “Or does the mask come off the fabric? You need something. You can see your collarbones otherwise. It’s obscene!”

“Collarbones are obscene?” Miraak asked, amused.

“Yours are!” Dorian cried, remembering all too well many many occasions he’d stared at them, just visible in the sharp V-cut of the robes, and wanted nothing more than to lick them. Scandalous and inappropriate, both the thought and the fact Miraak liked showing off so much skin.

The fact that Dorian’s usual choice of attire showed off far more once the outer cape was removed was neither here nor there.

Regardless, the final task before sealing the Breach was sorting out the Hinterlands once and for all, checking on people and dealing with the mercenaries that had colonised the villa down there. Dorian was coming, obviously. Sera was also joining the party, as was Bull… and Cesaire was packed and ready too, all decked out in some rogue’s armour from the loot pile, along with a bow and two daggers.

“You’ve armed yourself,” Miraak noted, and Cesaire nodded cheerfully.

“Yes! I have, I have! Only the world is a dangerous place, Your Worship,” Cesaire said, effortlessly transforming from gleefully excited to fawning servant in fear for his life worryingly quickly. “It is necessary, sir, very necessary. If Cesaire is not armed, many think to take advantage of poor Cesaire! The knives persuade people otherwise.”

“Do you know how to use them?” Miraak asked. They weren’t expensive knives, taken from the loot pile, but from the way Cesaire had fitted them, he was used to handling weapons. Who the hell was his previous employer??

Cesaire hesitated then sighed, letting his shoulders sink.

“Oh, there is no help for it,” Cesaire sighed. “I used to sweep floors and run errands for one of the assassin’s guilds back in Orlais. That is why no reference. Even their domestic servants’ identities are confidential. I used to ‘borrow’ their training facilities. Some of them even taught me a few techniques. Alas, I never got to enrol properly. In Orlais, even stabbing people for a living requires… connections.”

And so much became clear. Miraak had a feeling this wasn’t quite all of it, but it did explain a lot.

“Wait here,” Miraak sighed, heading for the smithy. If his valet was carrying weapons, his valet was carrying better weapons than that. He returned with an enchanted Tevinter dagger swiped form a torture chamber in the Dark Future, and a twisted poison blade found in an old Tevinter treasure chamber in the Hinterlands.

“Here,” he said, presenting them to Cesaire. “Take them. If you will go armed, go armed well. These are going to waste otherwise.”

Cesaire looked on them and almost cried.

“These?” he whispered. “These are for _me?_ ” 

Saering’s face on a stranger beamed back at him, delighted, and Miraak blushed under the mask. He didn’t want Cesaire as a bedmate – too much squealing – but damned if he didn’t feel protective.

“Yes,” Miraak told him. “Use them wisely and well.”

Cesaire grinned and swapped his knives out for the new ones. 

“The Herald can _count on it,_ ” Cesaire breathed.

“Hey! We getting under way or what? Or is Knifey ShivDark over there going to be polishing his little knives all day?”

“You know, for an elf who prefers other women, you’re _awfully_ interested in phallic artefacts,” Cesaire muttered, but he grabbed his pack anyway and climbed on the carriage.

“So, you’re not bothered by our valet turning out to be a half-trained wannabe assassin then,” Dorian sighed.

“It’s important to encourage our friends, is it not?” Miraak said, grinning before remembering Dorian couldn’t see that and patting his shoulder instead.

“Yes but I’m not sure we should be encouraging them to stab people,” Dorian said, eyeing Cesaire carefully, who was chatting merrily away to Bull and Sera, who he’d clearly befriended, in fact Miraak suspected he’d gone further than that with Bull, or at least was fully intending to from the way he was preening himself.

“He will be fine,” Miraak said, arm round Dorian. “He will either realise combat doesn’t suit him and hand the knives back, or get good at it, at which point he’ll be an asset to future missions.”

“Well if he stabs you, do I have permission to raise your corpse in revenge?” Dorian asked, and while that was an unorthodox request, Miraak didn’t see a problem.

“If,” Miraak promised. If he could manage that though, Miraak would be very surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered writing smut as well, but decided against, so Miraak and Dorian get to have a little privacy. Next chapter is a mission to the Hinterlands and Cesaire's getting ever closer to outing himself... and his real employer is one step ahead again.


	13. Dragonborn Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip to the Hinterlands prove to be both more and less eventful than planned, with Miraak arriving to find the fighting's been done for him... but with consequences that might give even him pause. Meanwhile his rival Dragonborn's got troubles of her own, with the true cost of this venture only just becoming apparent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot happens here, but it was a lot of fun to write. An awful lot of Dragon Age backstory got delved into here, particularly the Blights. Plus it's looking increasingly likely that I won't need to write Hawke in. I have also managed to eliminate Varric's quest with Bianca! You'll see why in this chapter. Hardly anyone in the fandom likes her anyway, it's no great loss. Besides in Age of the Dragon, Alistair was leading that Valammar mission because Elisif was unavailable, and he was sorely tempted to shout her into the Deep Roads and lock the door behind her. Miraak would have straight up done it. Perhaps it's for the best they never meet. As it is, the sole takeaway out of that quest is finding out red lyrium is standard lyrium with a Blight infection, and that can be handled just as well if not better by Reachman research laboratories - Eola might not need to set foot in Thedas personally to become the Blight Witch.

First sign of trouble was when they reached the Hafter’s Wood camp to hear reports of fighting near the very villa they were supposed to be clearing out. The night before had been full of it, sounds of screaming, dying… and magic lighting the sky.

Magic?? No Inquisition mage had been anywhere near the place. Were the Venatori involved?

Or… no. No, couldn’t be. And yet…

Miraak made his way to the villa, keeping all of his party close, including Cesaire who was constantly glancing around wide-eyed, eyes constantly flinching at shadows… and then the bear attacked.

Cesaire shrieked, threw down a handful of the stealth powder and promptly vanished in the haze. Not what it was for, but perhaps a bear was a bit much for him.

Miraak shouted it across the grasslands and then followed as Bull charged after it, Dorian casting barriers and Sera’s arrows finding their target. Still no sign of Cesaire… until it was all over, and then Cesaire scampered out of nowhere, beaming as he cleaned blood off his knives.

“These are some _truly_ pointy daggers, Herald!” Cesaire purred, looking delighted. And then Miraak glanced over his shoulder and saw the two mercenaries lying dead behind him, throats slit and blood liberally staining the grass.

Cesaire followed his gaze and giggled apologetically.

“They were sneaking up on you,” Cesaire explained. “Cesaire thought it would be better for them not to stab you in the kidneys. No need to thank me.”

It was impressive. Miraak was impressed. Cesaire was clearly not a half-trained wannabe by any means.

“How exactly did you get captured?” Miraak wanted to know, because Cesaire clearly had instincts and could probably have avoided trouble. Cesaire coughed awkwardly, glancing at his feet.

“Er… this is a little awkward but… Cesaire has _weaknesses,_ you see. For big burly men. Also Cesaire was cold and hungry and they had mead and… how was Cesaire supposed to know they weren’t getting the ropes out for a little fun?”

Behind him, Dorian burst out laughing, Sera was making disgusted noises in between her giggles, and Bull was slapping his thigh, roaring with laughter.

“You got caught because of your own libido! Ahahaha! HAHAHAHA! That’s funny, Little Red. Really. Ahhh, you’re adorable.”

Cooing from Cesaire, who was definitely fluttering his eyelashes, and Miraak wearily led them all on towards the villa.

The villa was eerily quiet, and the corpses lying on the bridge were the first sign of a problem. Well. Not a problem as such but who the hell had got here first?

Charred corpses. Frostbitten flesh. And… a briar thorn stuck in the armour of the big one, lots of little tooth-marks the sign of an entire vine of them entwining him and slowly strangling him.

Reachmen. He knew it. Gods damn them all.

It was the same story inside. More corpses, heads detached from bodies, signs of Destruction magic everywhere, little piles of ash from the reanimation spells the Reachmen used, and a few of their arrows left in corpses too.

“I didn’t even know southern mages were allowed to use necromancy,” Dorian said, looking up from one of the ash piles, concerned.

“They’re not southern mages,” Miraak growled, anger boiling inside. The fuckers had taken most of the loot too, and when they reached the balcony at the top of the villa had left a note pinned to a mosaic piece… written in Standard Tamrielic.

_Miraak,_

_My soldiers were getting restless so we got here first and took care of the problem for you. My apologies._

_Turns out their employers are based out of some Dwemer ruin near the lake, I think you have a camp out there? Some sort of dwarven clan is thinking to make a profit out of the poison red singing stone. Idiots. I’d let them kill themselves with it, but they’re causing trouble for civilians to keep attention off themselves by hiring second-rate mercenaries to pose as fake bandits._

_Unless you catch up and join us, we’ll have them dealt with as well. Try and keep up._

_Danach_

Miraak swore viciously in the same language Danach had written in and turned to order everyone north… and then they all heard it. A tremor through the ground and a noise sounding as if half a mountain had just collapsed.

“What the hell was that,” Bull said, face turning to the north, and Cesaire had actually gone pale.

“Miraak,” Cesaire rasped. “We need to go. Now. Something is wrong!”

Miraak didn’t need telling twice. They were out of there in moments, moving swiftly through the Hinterlands, finally emerging near Lake Luthias… and finding the entire southern end of the lake buried under a huge pile of basalt columns, the river finding a new course over the heap of rock and pouring over the cliff at the end in a torrent.

“What the fuck happened,” Sera said, wide-eyed.

“At a guess, several powerful mages collapsed the entire cliff over the cave entrance,” Dorian said grimly. “In a hurry too. Does it have anything to do with that note we found which none of us can read but you apparently could?”

“Yes,” Miraak said, surveying the damage and wondering why they’d gone to this lengths. “Probably. Why would you destroy the entrance to an entire Dwarven ruin?”

Silence and then Dorian broke it, voice quiet and sombre.

“The only reason I can think of for anyone collapsing a Deep Roads entrance is to stop darkspawn coming out of it,” Dorian said, staring at the wreckage. “That’s an extreme reaction, but darkspawn strike fear into the strongest.”

Miraak had read of darkspawn but never seen one. He really wasn’t sure he wanted to if the bloody Reachmen were scared of them. And then he heard Cesaire whimper piteously and felt him edging nearer, clutching at his robes.

Miraak instinctively put an arm round him, because the fear felt genuine. 

“Let’s see if the camp’s all right,” Miraak decided, because that landslide must have sent water pouring over the cliff and the camp was in the way. Thankfully the camp had survived, only one tent lost to the floods and none of the soldiers. The King’s Road below was under a foot of water but no one had been there at the time. The Hinterlands would survive, it seemed. And then one of the soldiers pointed to two mosaic pieces and a banner.

“A big Tal-Vashoth with tusks and some Chasind tribesmen came by and dropped them off. Left a note for you too, but none of us can read it. Said it was important.”

“Tal-Vashoth don’t have tusks,” Bull said, narrowing his eyes.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but this one did,” the Inquisition soldier said firmly. “Don’t know what else he could have been.”

“Give me the note,” was all Miraak said, recognising an Orc when he heard one described. Sure enough, it was Danach again.

_Miraak,_

_For your own sake and everyone else’s, do not venture into the Dwemer ruins here. I never thought to find something more horrifying than Falmer down there, but it turns out those… children of darkness? They’re worse. Far worse._

_Dragon blood attracts them. They’d breached the surface anyway, a few of them, but they came in force when they sensed Liriel. We were lucky to escape with our lives. Daedra know what they’d have done if they got hold of her but I’m not taking any chances. I heard about Blights. Ravaging hordes of those things destroying countries at the command of a Blight-infected dragon. They’re not getting their hands on Liriel._

_I won’t pretend I’ll mourn if you die, but even you deserve better than that fate. So here’s a warning._

_Do NOT go into the Deep Roads._

_Madanach_  
King of the Reach  
Ahmul-se-Dovahkiin 

Signing his real name at last. Admitting he and Liriel were here. Finally being truthful because apparently the danger was real enough to deserve a warning. The destroyed mountainside told its own story.

“Darkspawn will come after me if they detect me,” Miraak said, folding the letter and putting it way. “They’re drawn to dragon blood, and they’ll come in force apparently. That was why our mysterious friends destroyed the mountainside. To make sure none came after them.”

“Wait, Liriel was here?? And I missed her? Damn!” Bull sighed. “Would have liked to see her again.”

“Her husband was here too, he would not have been pleased with you,” Miraak said irritably, more important things on his mind than Bull’s libido. He knew about the Blights too, corrupted dragons leading a legion of monsters that tainted the very earth. It had taken years for Ferelden to recover. He’d not anticipated that they’d see him as an Archdemon. Damn it.

Cesaire had crept nearer, whimpering softly, clearly worried, and then next thing he knew Dorian was cuddling him too.

“I’m not letting you turn into an Archdemon,” Dorian said, sounding rather emotional, even for him. “I’m _not._ ”

No fear of that. But Miraak wasn’t letting Dorian near one of those things either if he could help it.

With no Carta clan left to plunder the Hinterlands, there was little left to do here. Cesaire in one arm, Dorian in the other, Miraak turned for home. There was nothing left for them here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at Caer Bronach, and it was clear Operation Deal with Miraak was in need of a rethink.

Liriel had barely said a word all journey home. She’d faced dragons, Daedra, Falmer, her own people, navigated court politics and the Thieves Guild and not an eyelid was batted. But apparently facing these… things, these darkspawn? A bridge too far.

Madanach sat next to his wife, curled up on a camp bed, quietly placing tea on the table next to her and stroking her hair.

“Are you all right, cariad,” Madanach murmured. Liriel shook her head.

“Not really,” Liriel whispered. “I’m sorry, Madanach. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Four Forsworn dead to those things. More injured. Three infected with that Blight disease and neither Keirine or Serana were optimistic about their chances.

They weren’t the first casualties but their losses were hitting home the hardest. Morale was low, the initial optimism was giving way to angry mutterings about why they were here anyway if Miraak wasn’t taking over the world, and absolutely no one liked Andrastianism. They were outsiders. Interlopers. And as soon as the local Jarl or the Queen, Anora, found out they were here, they might be surrendering even this place. Relations with the villagers were friendly for now, but likely not indefinitely. Already there were grumblings over Madanach executing the mayor. The fact said mayor had confessed to drowning innocent people during the Blight and indirectly contributing to the local undead crisis in the first place then fled the village was apparently neither here nor there.

With the undead laid to rest and the rifts closed, thanks to the Shout Liriel had got off Dorian, perhaps they didn’t need to be here. But if not them, it wouldn’t be long before worse moved in. They’d already had to kill a few Red Templar scouts trying to get to the elven ruins in the hills. Sithis knew more would come eventually.

And gods forgive him, Madanach was looking at Liriel and thinking perhaps that wasn’t his problem any more.

“Perhaps we should pull the operation,” Madanach said softly. That got Liriel’s attention.

“What??” she cried, sitting up. “But Miraak’s still out there!”

“Yeah, and we’ve established by this point he’s not actually the worst thing in this godawful continent,” Madanach said wearily. “He’s got no ties left in Tamriel. He’s not going to come back. Here he’s got his own organisation, a boyfriend even, and I’m sure he’s more than capable of dealing with this Elder One. We got Cicero’s own letter saying Miraak’s being merciful to people. _Merciful._ And Cicero sounds suitably puzzled and pissed off about it too, so he’s not being mind-controlled. What do you say we pull Cicero out of there, all portal back to Markarth, close the portals and never come here again. And then Miraak can deal with this place.”

“But you promised you’d help!” Liriel whispered, staring up at him, heartbroken. Madanach hated saying no to her, he really did. He’d wanted to help, he really had. But they were losing people. And it was costing a fortune, both in pay, hazard pay, overtime, overworking the ReachGuard back home, and in supplies from Markarth. Not to mention Eola essentially running things back home while he was away. People were definitely asking questions, no doubt.

“I know, but this is getting complicated,” Madanach sighed. “And costly! Look, we came here to hunt down an archvillain and save a foreign land. But it turns out our archvillain’s reforming himself and the foreign land mostly needs saving from itself and its godawful religion and the homegrown arsehole and whatever the fuck Oblivion realm those darkness-spawned things come from. I say let Miraak sort the place out.”

“But…” Liriel looked down, quietly acknowledging the Forsworn death toll. “If we’re wrong… if Miraak turns bad again… it’ll be a lot harder to kill him once he’s a legendary hero.”

“But not impossible,” Madanach said, patting her hand. “We can leave Cicero there if you want. We can maintain a small presence somewhere, keep in touch with him, monitor the situation. But… Liriel, this isn’t our fight. I’m not saying it’s not a worthy cause, but they have a Dragonborn! One who figured out how to close the rifts on his own. That is more than any of us managed. I honestly think he’s got this one, Liriel. Come on, he knows we’re here and are watching. We could let the paranoia do the rest of the work for us.”

Liriel truly didn’t like that idea either but the idea of Miraak knowing he was being watched was a good one. She didn’t want to risk Cicero though. Hmm. There was someone though, wasn’t there.

“Cole!” Liriel called, and in a flash he was there. The spirit boy who’d originally been at Therinfal Redoubt with the Templars, helped with Barris’s rebellion, lived there quietly without anyone knowing and could disappear without anyone knowing he was even there. He’d been with Ser Barris’s people, but left before they got to Haven on the trail of Red Templar scouting parties bound for Crestwood, found Liriel on her way back from the Hinterlands and latched on to her.

Madanach, if he’d been allowed any say in the matter whatsoever, would have happily had the little horror booted through a portal to the nearest realm of Oblivion but unfortunately Liriel had been fascinated by the little Aedric being in human form and wanted to keep him.

Now there he was, sitting on a table, face barely visible behind the straggly blonde hair and the wide-brimmed hat.

“Cole, I think I’m going to need your help,” Liriel said, voice gentle and kind, as it always was talking to Cole. “I need someone to watch Miraak.”

“Laughing, laughing, laughing in the Void, a fool’s hat, a fool’s heart, knives of ebony and heart to match, feigning affection, feigning much, court jester for the Dragon King’s Court but under the laughter, the Queen’s hidden knife,” Cole said softly. “Cicero watches and waits, the knife in the shadow. Miraak won’t see the danger.”

“He won’t see it if he knows the Dragonborn’s agent is someone else, no,” Liriel said, smiling. “Look, I don’t want you to hurt anyone. I want you to help. Go to Haven and join the Inquisition, but tell Miraak I sent you to keep an eye on him. He doesn’t know blood magic, I don’t think he’ll know how to bind you. And you’ll be able to disappear and flee if he tries the Thu’um. But that’s only if Cicero’s wrong and he’s still a bastard at heart. If he’s genuinely doing the right thing… you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“Fire in your heart, fire in your head,” Cole said, rocking and kicking his feet. “You’re too bright! I can’t see you. And he’ll be worse. But… yes. If I turn into a monster, he could stop me. And if he does… I can escape and find you.”

Madanach had heard worse plans. Also it got rid of the creepy little weirdo. Madanach was genuinely looking forward to Cicero’s reports on the little fucker.

“Fine. Authorised,” Madanach sighed. “Miraak can deal with both Cole AND Cicero in close quarters. Rather him than me. All right, we can start pulling people out, with a skeleton force to remain here and keep order. Meanwhile Cole goes to Haven, makes official contact with Miraak, stays as our official observer, and takes with him an invitation from me to come and meet with us here. Except you know you don’t have to come if you don’t want. I know you’re maybe not comfortable seeing him again.”

Liriel truly wasn’t, no. But she’d likely have to talk to him at some point, wouldn’t she. 

“I think I’ll have to decide nearer the time,” Liriel said wearily. “But… if he is a reformed character, and he’s not trying to kill me any more… you know what, I think I’m OK leaving this place to him. I know this is costing you. I’m sorry.”

Madanach nodded, squeezing Liriel’s hand. It was costing all of them, and Madanach was getting tired of having to keep transferring between Markarth and Caer Bronach. The portal lag was wearing him out, and he invariably managed to get back just in time to see the kids go to bed. No fun for anyone.

And then the door flung open and Serana burst in.

“Liriel,” Serana gasped. “Sorry to interrupt, but you have to see this! The Dragonborn detection spell, it’s picked up the signal from the Storm Coast again!”

The Dragonborn detection spell had used Liriel’s blood to seek out other Dragonborns, and once her blood kin had been eliminated, found a strong signal coming from the other side of the planet. Keirine’s scrying had found gaps in the Veil and it had been easy enough to set up a channel to one. Of course, establishing a base and working out just what was going on over there had been harder, and it had been made harder still by three distinct readings on the Dragonborn signal. One over the Frostbacks in Orlais. One down in Haven which had proved to be Miraak. And another odd one that had been moving very erratically in the Storm Coast and eluded Liriel completely.

It was an interesting result for it to crop up again but if it wasn’t Miraak, was it really their problem?

“No, I mean, it’s here!” Serana cried. “Right here in Crestwood! Passed by the Keep and is heading south as of five minutes ago!”

All right, that was worth checking out.

“Serana, get Borkul,” Madanach told her. “Liriel, Cole, we’re off to find Dragonborn Three.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Dragonborn Three turned out to be near the pond to the south, fighting off four wolves by himself. From a distance, Liriel could tell he was wearing silver and blue armour. She’d seen that armour. Grey Wardens, a mysterious order of warriors who fought darkspawn and Blights. Some of them had passed through, looking for one of their own, a man named Alistair who’d been a senior member of their order once but may have absconded. A seasoned warrior apparently, dangerous if approached but not really the Reach’s problem. At any rate, he’d not been spotted in Crestwood so no one had bothered about it.

Except here was a lone Warden, which was odd, given the state of the roads. They normally travelled in pairs or small groups. Most people did. Liriel didn’t, but a Dragonborn mage rarely ran into trouble she couldn’t handle.

Now here was this Grey Warden fighting off a pack of wolves by himself. Couldn’t be, could it? The mysterious Warden Alistair… and apparently Dragonborn?

Liriel was about to hail him when she saw the figures emerge from the undergrowth, glowing red crystals visible through their black plate armour. Red Templars, more of them. 

The Dragonborn Warden had drawn his sword, shield raised, laughing nervously.

“Ah. It’s you lot. Can we… can we talk about this? No? All right. I suppose we’ll have to fight. You know, those crystals in your head can’t be good for you.”

“We’re helping,” Liriel decided. “I’ve found they’re weak to frost magic.”

For two vampires, that was music to their ears.

“On it,” Serana said, ice spiking the lead Templar, and battle was joined, Borkul charging in to smack down the Templars, while a barrage of ice spears kept them off guard. It wasn’t long before the Templars were lying dead in the grass, and the Reachman party found itself looking at the Warden Dragonborn close up.

He’d cleaned his sword and pulled his helm off, revealing red hair, slightly tan skin, and the most unusual eyes. Something almost elven about him, although Liriel couldn’t place it and he was definitely human.

“Hello,” the Warden said cheerfully. “Thanks for that! I’m sure I could have taken them but always nice to have a bit of assistance. Er… there is no polite way of asking this, but… what are you? You and him look a bit like Qunari. But you aren’t. They don’t have tusks, and I know what a hornless Qunari looks like, the one I knew still had those bumps in the skull where horns could have come in. None of that on you. You look more like an elf, you’ve got that delicate bone structure going on but… I never saw an elf like you. You’re… not like anyone I ever met. Who are you.”

His voice had softened as he’d stepped forward, the strangest look in his eyes, and suddenly Liriel felt extremely uncomfortable, reaching instinctively for Madanach.

Dragonborn. He was Dragonborn. She could tell, and her only other experience of another Dragonborn was Miraak advancing on her, intending to kill. What this man’s intentions were was anyone’s guess, but thankfully Madanach had her back, stepping in front of her to shield her.

“She’s my wife,” Madanach said firmly. “You keep your distance from her. Son, you’re passing through my territory, I’m going to need an explanation – oh god, what is… what’s up with your blood??”

He’d staggered back, looking like he was about to be sick, and Serana frowned and stepped forward before immediately retreating.

“He’s infected,” Serana said, grimacing. “Blight. I can smell it on his blood. He… he should be dying.”

The Warden was staring at her, shocked.

“You can smell the Blight?” he said, amazed. Then he shrugged, smiling ruefully.

“Yes. It’s true. I am infected and I am dying, just… really really slowly. I’m a Grey Warden. Part of the rite that makes us what we are changes us. We gain immunity to the darkspawn by sharing in their taint, but it slowly kills us. One day I guess I’ll have to go to the Deep Roads to die an honourable death there. But not yet. Anyway. My name’s Alistair, I was passing through. And if you didn’t have any other questions, I can be on my way and forget I ever saw a not-Vashoth, a weird-looking if really pretty elf, and you two with the skin that’s a bit too pale and the scary orange eyes that glow in the dark. And that can smell people’s blood.”

A Blight vaccine. Could that help the infected Forsworn?

“Those things take time and testing to develop and it sounds like it swaps a quick death for a slow one but… it’s worth a look at,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “Look, friend, we’d let you go but I got three Blighted soldiers need help. We’re gonna have to put them out of their misery… unless you can tell us more about this rite. What’s it involve, samples of darkspawn blood? Neutralised somehow?”

“Yes – maybe?” Alistair said awkwardly. “Look, I’m not entirely sure myself, but it’s darkspawn blood mixed with the blood of a dead Archdemon. They’re the dragons that lead Blights. I don’t know where we’d get any of that.”

Dragon blood. Dragon blood was part of the vaccine? That was something worth trying.

“Use mine,” Liriel gasped. “I mean, it can’t hurt!”

“For a vaccine, perhaps, but you’d need more for a cure,” Serana said thoughtfully. “And all the experimentation’s going to destroy samples. But… there’s a dragon at the ruined castle over the ridge? I know it’s not a Dovah but the Thedosian dragons must have yielded the samples Wardens use.”

“You can tame the thing, right?” Madanach asked, hope in his eyes. 

Bend Will could keep the thing subdued long enough to harvest blood, Liriel was sure.

“Thank you,” she said, turning to Alistair. “I think you just saved some lives. I mean, it’ll take work. Experimentation. We need to get a version working that won’t actually poison them. But we’d never have thought of that on our own, thank you!”

“It’s no trouble?” Alistair said, looking a bit confused. “I mean, you can thank me if it works. But… you can do that? Replicate the Joining and change it?”

“Maybe,” Madanach said, smiling. “We won’t know until we try. Honestly, it might not even work at all. But it’s a lead we didn’t have before. Look, did you want to come back to the Keep? Stick around for a bit? I recognise your name. Your own order’s hunting you. Come back with us, hide out in our keep, and if they come back, we’re quite willing to deny ever knowing you.”

“I…” Alistair glanced at the cave behind him. It had been home to a slaving crew when the Reachmen had first arrived. Not any more. Right now it was a dumping ground for Red Templar corpses, because the fuckers didn’t rot.

“Can I know your names first?” Alistair asked. “And you still haven’t told me what you really are.”

“My name’s Liriel,” Liriel told him. “This is my husband Madanach. This is Serana and that’s Borkul. Well-spotted for noticing I’m an elf not a Qunari. Not many do. I’m a High Elf. No, you won’t have met one before. We’re not from round here. We were hunting an escaped criminal but he’s managed to make himself too useful for us to actually arrest. Look, we wouldn’t normally have stopped you, but you’re showing up on the detection spell we were using to track this guy. I had questions about that, because it’s a very rare signal that should have only highlighted him.”

Alistair laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck and going pink.

“Ah. Sorry. I messed up your spell, didn’t I?”

“No, it just flagged up more than one of you,” Serana said. “Don’t worry, we traced our guy. But… you shouldn’t be on here at all. Unless you really are Dragonborn.”

A very strange look in Alistair’s eyes… almost as if he knew. But in a land where Dragonborns were supposed to not exist, how?

“They always told me my father’s bloodline got its power from some ritual involving dragon blood,” Alistair said softly. “I never believed it but… a Qunari friend told me it was true, my blood had a dragon’s power. Then this cult, the Venatori – they managed to kidnap my father and use his blood in a blood magic rite, and it gave them a dragon’s power.”

He saw the horrified looks in all their faces at that one.

“Yeah, it was pretty horrible – wait. It’s not me you’re worried for, is it.”

“Are you telling me a blood mage could use a Dragonborn’s blood for bad things,” Madanach said, glancing at Liriel and taking her hand.

“Blood mages can use anyone’s blood for bad things,” Alistair said bitterly. “But yes. Apparently my father’s blood had a whole pool of vast untapped power. And I heard there’s Venatori here in Ferelden. Another reason to keep moving.”

“We need to warn him as well, don’t we,” Liriel sighed.

“Warn me about what?” Alistair asked.

“Not you,” Madanach said, shaking his head. “The other Dragonborn. The one who’s made a point of pissing off the Venatori.”

“The criminal you’re hunting?” Alistair said, frowning. “He’s Dragonborn as well?”

“Yes, and he knows it, and can do things with the power you wouldn’t even believe,” Liriel sighed, rubbing her forehead. “He’s not exactly an easy target and he’s well defended, but all the same, he could do with the warning. Oh gods. I’m going to have to go to Haven, aren’t I.”

“What, where the Temple of Sacred Ashes is… was?” Alistair said, frowning. “That’s the Inquisition’s headquarters now. Is he with them? Do they know they’ve got a wanted criminal in their ranks??”

“I did befriend one of their people and tell him, but my sources tell me our man’s talked his way out of trouble,” Liriel said, still annoyed about that one. “Apparently they’re focused on closing the Breach above all else. I don’t suppose I can blame them. It is a problem. But something tells me that even when it’s closed, they’re not going to just hand the Herald over.”

“Wait, you’re hunting the _Herald of Andraste??_ ” Alistair said, eyes widening. “But… everyone says he’s a rift-sealing hero and the Inquisition helps people. I mean, I never met him in person. But… shit. I mean, what did he do??”

“As to that, that’s a long story,” Liriel said, glancing at Madanach. “Look, if you really are Dragonborn, there’s a lot you need to know. Come back to the keep. We’ll tell you everything.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

In the calm before the storm, there wasn’t a lot to do for Miraak and Dorian except to hang around Haven. So they did, and while some part of Miraak felt it wasn’t entirely healthy for them to spend every waking moment together, most of him couldn’t bear to be away from Dorian for long. So they toured Haven together, hanging around with Varric by the campfire or Vivienne in the Chantry, or the tavern, or Miraak sparring with Bull while Dorian chatted to Krem, or taking a walk round the lake, hand in hand, and just enjoying the fresh air and each other’s company.

Of course, there was something Miraak had promised to do and that was take a look at the various Avvar runes they’d found. The ones from the Hinterlands had proved to be intriguing – three different alphabets, and Miraak was certain they were saying the same thing. As one was Dovahzul, translating the letters was easy. Alas they’d not used the actual language, just the alphabet… but it wasn’t far off Atmoran. The other alphabet turned out to be Daedric which Miraak could read… but that wasn’t the Daedric tongue either, it was something like Rhanzul. Odd.

Regardless, he’d eventually come up with a translation, managed to impress Dorian, given Dorian a lexicon of the Dovahzul alphabet to study, and passed the result, apparently a version of the tale of Tyrdda Bright-Axe, to Leliana. Some Chantry scholar had petitioned the Inquisition for aid in tracking down Tyrdda’s lost axe. Now that Miraak had proof the Avvars had had his distant kin among them, he was interested himself.

“It’s an improvement on your tentacle sword,” Dorian had said from where he was sprawled out on the bed. “But do you realise what this means? Tamriel is not only real but people from there were here in Thedas! And they’re the ancestors of the Avvar! You’re distantly related to the mountain barbarians! The old god dragon cult really might have had Tamrielic antecedents and even if the Tevinter version didn’t, the version of it in the South might have done.”

“More research will be needed before you can publish your book on it,” Miraak said, glancing over at the beautiful man presently stretched out on his bed, a man he thoroughly intended to take to bed later. But right now this was more intriguing. “Still, you are not wrong. I thought myself in a whole new world, but this… this proves my kin came here. They would not have been worshipping dragons by then – had they been, they would have written this in Dovahzul. No, after the Dragon War and the Fall of Alduin, they clearly stopped learning the dragon tongue… but they kept the writing system. No one was writing anything in Atmoran in my day, we wrote everything in our sacred Dovahzul. By this point, they’re writing in Atmoran using Dovahzul letters, except the language changed. This was well after my day but they were still my kin. They came from Skyrim. How or why, I don’t know. I don’t think their departure was recorded. But they were here and they brought Atmoran culture with them. This… this is home. A little taste of home in a place I never thought to find it.”

The bed creaked and then Dorian was by his side, arms going round him as he kissed Miraak’s cheek.

“Imagine, you’ve got distant kin here, and among the Fereldans as well most likely, there’s been intermarriage,” Dorian said, smiling. “I’m happy for you, you know. Anything to help you feel a little less lonely.”

Miraak didn’t like talking about it but Dorian was right, damn him. He kept Dorian near him so much because without him he started to feel… not real. As if the world wasn’t real. As if he was all alone and all those around him merely shadows. It was disconcerting indeed, but fortunately physical sensations and social interaction all kept it at bay. Food, ale, tinvaak… and sex, it turned out. And Dorian dispelled the entire sensation without even trying just by being there… and sometimes when he wasn’t.

Miraak felt the collar’s weight round his neck, felt it reminding him he was real and was here, and that he had someone who cared about him, who would notice he was gone. He couldn’t wear it outside but it was a reminder nonetheless. He was bound to this plane and to Dorian, and wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Do you think they brought the dragon blood with them?” Dorian asked, snuggling him from behind. “There might be another Dragonborn out there somewhere! Do you think they knew what they were? I don’t like the idea of them never knowing or having to learn about it from a demon.”

“I doubt it,” Miraak said, shrugging. “Perhaps they did, I don’t know. But chances are they never knew what they were. If they did unlock the power though… look to your cultural heroes or villains then. One with the Thu’um will be remembered, one way or another.”

Dorian fell silent, retreating to the bed, looking thoughtful.

“So unlikely as to stretch credulity,” Dorian murmured to himself. “Good heavens, I’m going to actually have to reread the Chant, aren’t I.”

“Why, was someone in that possibly Dragonborn?” Miraak asked, returning to the runes Leliana had asked him to translate.

“Was… possibly!” Dorian laughed. “I need to reread and think about it though. It’s not an idea to be entertained lightly. Don’t mind me though. Pretend I’m not here and continue your important academic work. Please don’t let me discourage you from scholarly pursuits.”

Miraak chuckled and resumed his work, while Dorian summoned Miraak’s largely unread Chant of Light from the bookshelf and started thumbing through it. And so they worked, Miraak in silence, while Dorian made the occasional comment about the Southern Chant being different to the one he’d been made to study by the Andrastian Brothers. All passed peacefully until Miraak laid down his quill, stared at the paper before him and with a cry, swept all the papers and a few books to the floor, head in his hands.

That got Dorian’s attention. Lowering the Chant and leaving it on the nightstand, Dorian hesitantly made his way over to Miraak, hand gently on his shoulder.

“Amatus,” Dorian said softly. “Amatus, is everything all right? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Am I never going to escape the past,” Miraak said bitterly. “Is it going to continue to haunt me at every turn? Millennia later, a world away, and even here they know my story. One not even of the Dragon Cult writes of me. An Andrastian fleeing some manner of treachery, invoking the tale of Vahlok and Miraak, with himself as Vahlok of course. He seems to think Vahlok is a guardian to be honoured, and I the worst kind of traitor. Never mind that Vahlok executed children. His name is revered and mine cursed. Even here.”

Dorian leaned forward, taking Miraak in his arms, sliding on to his lap and kissing the top of Miraak’s head. To see his own name in the text… one of the perils of being several millennia old but must have been a shock even so.

“I’m so sorry, Miraak,” Dorian said softly. “But it was the Dragon Cult you turned against. Not anyone we should be revering today. We’ll get the real story told, amatus, don’t worry. You’re going to save the world and be remembered as a hero. The Slayer of the Elder One, Bane of the Venatori, Herald of Andraste, Dragonborn, Saviour of us all. You’ll go down in history. Everyone will love you, I promise.”

Miraak’s grip on him tightened, and Dorian had a sense it had comforted him a little. 

“We still have much to do,” Miraak murmured. “In the meantime, I’m going to have to hand this over to Leliana and admit the early Andrastians had heard my story and believed me a traitor, not a saviour.”

“Because they had only ever heard the Dragon Cult’s version,” Dorian said firmly. “Leliana will understand. That woman is loyal to you and knows how to manage a reputation. It will be fine. We already told her the truth about you, it won’t be a shock.”

Miraak rested his head against Dorian’s chest, seeming reassured but saying nothing. Dorian kissed the top of his head, wishing there was more he could say or do to cheer Miraak up. Taking him to bed, possibly, but Miraak just didn’t seem in the mood right now. Cuddling and tinvaak it was then.

“It’s going to be all right,” Dorian whispered to him, scratching him behind the ears, which did at least make Miraak smile and nuzzle closer. “I’m still here. I still love you.”

It wasn’t until the words left his mouth that he realised that he’d not actually told Miraak he loved him in the first place yet.

Oh no. Oh hell no. He’d not meant to say that! The time wasn’t right! He wasn’t ready! Despite Miraak’s daily proclamations of affection, Dorian wasn’t the type to say that sort of thing out loud!

But it was too late now, and Miraak had heard, and was lifting his head, staring at him… and then broke out into a brilliant smile.

“Truly? You mean that?”

“Miraak, I’m sorry,” Dorian managed to say, mortified. “I wasn’t going to say that, I don’t know what possessed me!”

“Yes, but did you mean it?” Miraak pressed, looking up at him and he clearly was not going to take no for an answer. Telling him he’d not meant it really would no doubt end badly for them both. Also it wasn’t true. Dorian did care. He did have feelings. He felt his heart almost beat out of his chest whenever he looked at Miraak. It had been a long time since he’d felt like this about anyone and longer still since… no. No, he wasn’t sure it had ever been reciprocated before. Entirely new territory and this was terrifying him. But if he was less than honest or tried to laugh this off, Miraak would probably leave him.

“Yes I did,” Dorian finally admitted. “I wasn’t planning to say it just yet. I was thinking maybe a few months down the line or on our one year anniversary I might tell you. Maybe some extravagant display and some courtship gifts or something. I… thought you deserved something special. I didn’t… I’m sorry. I’m making a complete hash of this, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but I’m enjoying it,” Miraak said, still that damnable smile on his face. “Go on. You were telling me how much you adored me.”

Of all the egomaniacal bastards… and yet Dorian couldn’t even fault him for it. Miraak was one of a kind and knew it.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” Dorian admitted. “I likely never will again. You have everything I ever wanted. I’ve been fighting my feelings for weeks because you just felt too good to be true… well, we know now why you’re not. But… you’re here and you’re trying, and you can change the world, hopefully for the better. And you noticed me. And far from ordering me to your bed and keeping me as a plaything, you opened your heart to me. Courted me. Listened to me. Offered me everything I wanted but never thought I’d ever have. There have been men I felt this way about before, but it always ended in tears. There was no one who ever felt the same way. Until you. This is completely new territory for me, you know. I think this was why I was fighting my feelings for so long. The prospect of admitting it was real scared me to death. But… it is real, isn’t it. You love me. And I – I fell in love with you that day on the Storm Coast when you turned Bull down and said we were exclusive. I hadn’t even dared ask but you were just offering anyway. I’ve loved you ever since. Having to confront you about the past was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and it nearly broke my heart… I’m so glad we’re still together. I love you, Miraak. Now, please don’t make me say it again. I hate these emotional conversations.”

Miraak had listened to all this with a smile on his face, eyes almost seeming alive with delight, and then he reached up, cupped the back of Dorian’s head and pulled him down for a kiss, lips meeting his as Miraak’s arms went round him.

“You said it once,” Miraak murmured, breaking off from the kiss. “It is enough. I will repay you with my own affection and loyalty, and who knows. Maybe in time your fear will lessen and you’ll say it more freely. But for now, know I feel the same. I love you with all my heart, fariiki. I always have. I always had feelings. But I knew we could have something the day you walked back into Haven to join permanently. I knew you’d chosen me. Of course I asked you for dinner and agreed to unmask. How could I not? I knew how I felt. I only needed for you to admit you felt the same. Now you have and… what more could I desire. If I go on to conquer the world, it is only to give it to you.”

Dorian didn’t want the world, but they could talk about that later, in fact while the South’s future wasn’t really his main concern, he couldn’t help but think of Tevinter. What could a man do in Tevinter with a Dragonborn at his side. Quite a bit, Dorian wagered. But that was for another time. Right now, they needed to save the world from the Elder One. And in between times… Dorian had Miraak, and with him in his arms, smiling that damnable, beautiful smile, Dorian needed very little else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww. Those two. I was wondering how to get Dorian to say that to Miraak and drawing a blank and then kept imagining him saying it without thinking and going 'but he's not going to just casually say something like that, he hates admitting his feelings out loud'. And then decided it'd be hilarious to have him say it without thinking and then be appalled and be all 'I am so sorry!' while Miraak's beaming.
> 
> In the game, the runes from underneath Haven refer to a guardian of some sort fleeing treachery to an island off the northern coast. The parallels for Miraak's story were too good not to use.
> 
> I did want to have Liriel start relenting on pursuing Miraak but she's too stubborn to just give up. Turns out the best way to persuade her was for her to start realising how much the whole venture was costing - or at least for Madanach to realise it and point it out.
> 
> Alistair in this universe stayed in the Wardens. Loghain got executed by the HoF, Anora's queen, Alistair's single and free of drinking problems and in a lot better state mentally. He's got no desire to start over in Tamriel but is going to be Very Excited about learning the Thu'um. And if Liriel brings him to Haven, we don't actually need Hawke. Might even be able to axe the Fade sequence.
> 
> As it is, next chapter? Next chapter we might actually be able to start In Your Heart Shall Burn.


	14. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to close the Breach but the immensity of the task ahead daunts even Miraak (not that he'll admit it). A surprise offer of help could be just the thing to make sure all goes well... but it'll require trust and forgiveness, and Miraak has never done well at either of those. It's fortunate Dorian's on hand to smooth things over... but there's a bigger threat lurking, and it's not happy at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Your Heart Shall Burn! That's all, really. Anything else will be spoilery.

Preparations made. Templars organised. Mages organised. Neither group really talking much to the other – no one talking at all really. Everyone nervous. Everyone focused. Everyone worried about the task ahead.

None more so than Miraak. He laughed it off in public, of course his Thu’um could close it. He just needed to be closer.

A lot closer. And even with Templars suppressing it, he’d need to be right up close and the prospect of relying on all the mages below levitating him was… daunting.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ve organised the levitation in waves, and Dorian and I are off the rota to conserve mana so that we can lower you down. Also poor Dorian is suffering dreadfully from anxiety over the whole business, I thought I would spare him.”

Dorian had said nothing of the sort to Miraak, but on the morning he was keyed up, tetchy, irritable in a way he normally wasn’t, so clearly Vivienne wasn’t wrong.

“It’s going to be fine. I’ll seal it,” Miraak promised, arm round Dorian as they proceeded up to the Breach, leading the Inquisition forces along with Vivienne, Cassandra, Solas, and Cullen nearby with the Templars.

Dorian said nothing, drawing closer, apparently not convinced but not wanting to think about what happened if it went wrong. None of them did.

They’d do this. Miraak was sure of it. He’d dealt with a damn sight worse before now. He could do this.

And so they proceeded to the ruined Temple, all was going well until the advance party ordered someone to stand down and lower their weapons, and an agent came running back to update Cassandra.

“Seeker! You need to come! There’s people there already, a man and a woman! The man’s a Grey Warden called Alistair and the woman… we don’t know what she is. Says she wants to speak to the Herald.”

“Alistair? That was the Warden who fought alongside the Hero of Ferelden,” Miraak said, recalling the story. “He’s here? Why?”

No one had an answer to that. And as to who this mysterious woman was… Miraak had a suspicion, feeling his hackles rise, and the prickling sensation only got stronger as he entered the Temple, arriving in the main hall and staring down into the courtyard.

Warden Alistair was there, slightly tan skin and red hair and the blue-silver armour of the Wardens, having a conversation with non-plussed Inquisition personnel, apparently unbothered by the arrows trained on him. And next to him…

His rival Dragonborn was here. In Haven. The hood of her Archmage’s robes down, red hair on show, that fancy circlet gleaming in the Breach-light. Golden skin, pointed ears, like no Thedosian elf, the only one of her people in the entire continent. Much like him, not that he’d ever admit that.

Last time he’d laid eyes on her, she’d been trying to kill him. Now… well, she wasn’t attacking. But as for tinvaak with his rival Dovahkiin, he was not remotely ready. Thankfully Cassandra was.

“You! Liriel! This is Inquisition territory! You will hold fire and explain yourself now! Templars be ready, she’s a very dangerous mage!”

Liriel stepped forward, staring Cassandra straight in the eyes.

“You have a more dangerous one at your back, Seeker. But… I came with a message, not to fight. Also the Breach overrides all other threats. Drem Yol Lok, Miraak. Are you open to tinvaak for once? They tell me you’re a changed man.”

She didn’t sound like she remotely believed him, and Miraak stepped forward, reluctantly facing his nemesis once more.

“Stand down, Inquisition, and do not fight her. She’s here for me. So. Liriel. You’ve come to finish what we started, have you?”

Liriel was glaring at him, looking at least a little discomfited, but Alistair seemed fascinated.

“Does he ever take that thing off?”

Miraak had the mask on. He felt the Breach deserved nothing less.

“Not that I ever saw,” Liriel said, shrugging. “It was his symbol of office as a Dragon Priest and he’s barely removed it since. Creepy, I know.”

Hah. If only she knew.

“You’ve had that crown on every time I saw you,” Miraak snapped, slowly making his away round the courtyard. “Don’t lecture me in my own strunmah. Are you here for another dance or to assist.”

Liriel grimaced, looking extremely uncomfortable, but before she could reply, Miraak realised Dorian had left his side, dropped down to the courtyard and was making his way over to Liriel, arms outstretched.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Miraak, she’s here to help of course!” Dorian called out cheerfully. “Liriel, my dear, lovely to see you again, how are you?”

Miraak cried out Dorian’s name, feeling his heartrate speed up at the thought of Dorian, his beloved, his lokaal, anywhere near her, but damn if she wasn’t smiling at him, looking actually pleased to see him, and then the two of them actually hugged, Dorian lightly kissing each cheek.

“Welcome to Haven, we could do with another voice! And is this the Warden Alistair? From the Blight?”

“I need to change my name,” Alistair said, laughing. “Yes, that’s me. Yes, the Archdemon was big, the Wardens were brave, it was a mighty victory. And then the world moved on. These days, I’m more low-profile. Or at least I was until I met Liriel here, and now it turns out I can breathe fire. Hello! Are you Dorian? The Dorian? Miraak’s boyfriend Dorian?”

“That’s me,” Dorian said, warming up to Alistair already. “Yes, Miraak’s terrifying, yes I’ve seen him without the mask, yes I know what he’s done. He’s promised to save the world and atone. And here he is, all ready to intervene and overprotect. He does that, you know.”

Sure enough, Miraak had raced after Dorian, leapt down into the courtyard and Whirlwind Sprinted up to Dorian, taking him by the shoulders and pulling him away from Liriel.

“You will stay away from him, Dragonborn,” Miraak snapped. “He’s under my protection. Don’t even think about hurting him.”

“I’m not!” Liriel cried and Dorian just sighed.

“Maker, I knew this would happen,” Dorian said wearily. “Can we declare a twenty four hour truce to deal with the Breach? Maker knows I’d feel happier if another Dragonborn was helping. You are here to help, aren’t you, Liriel?”

Liriel sighed, sounding as if every part of this was paining her, then nodded.

“Yes. Yes, I came to help. We both did. Alistair’s been here before, it was him who discovered this place in fact.”

“I did,” Alistair confirmed, smile fading. “It looked so different back then. It was beautiful, you know. Now look at it. Maker, how many people died?”

“Too many,” Miraak said, following Alistair’s gaze and remembering all the burned corpses. At the time it had barely registered emotionally. Now the memory bothered him. “It was worse in the immediate aftermath. We’ve cleaned up since. And now we heal the sky. Mu vokrii lok.”

Alistair shot a glance at Liriel.

“It really is a language, isn’t it?” he whispered. “You can speak it! What’s he saying?”

“Er…” Liriel began, looking a little awkward, and Miraak felt his nerves ease as he realised she really wasn’t all-knowing or all-powerful, was she?

“It means we repair the sky,” Miraak told him. “Don’t bother asking her. She doesn’t speak the language. She can learn the Thu’ums but it’s never been her tongue. But she can Shout a rift shut apparently. And… we could use another Voice. Thu’umu hilkaan. Our voices joined can close the Breach. We could really do with a third but…”

Miraak stopped, masked visage turning to Alistair.

“Wait. You... Warden Alistair. What are… no. Another? Here?”

“Another Dragonborn,” Liriel confirmed, looking smug. “Here in Thedas. He was showing up as a false signal on our Dragonborn tracker, and then he walked right past our base. So we had to go talk to him. I explained the situation, trained him in the Thu’um, and now he’s here.”

“I’ve closed a rift and everything!” Alistair said proudly. “It was brilliant! Is it supposed to be brilliant? Because it is. Hey, I mean, I know you’re sort of evil and everything but… what do I do now? With the Thu’um? I mean, what’s it for?”

What was it for. What was it _for??_ What sort of question was that… a good one, it turned out. Miraak had never thought to ask himself what it was for. He’d just seen power and used it. All he had was theology lectures from his old tutors.

“Whatever you wish it to do, Ah-laas-dah,” Miraak said, glancing up at the Breach. “Today, we use it to close that. Tomorrow you go on your way and close rifts. Or kill darkspawn. They tell me that is what your Order does. I admit, I can hear the Blight on you – are you infected?”

“Tainted, yes,” Alistair sighed. “It’s part of the ritual that gives us the ability to fight darkspawn. I always thought it might corrupt the dragon blood in me. But… it turns out I can Shout. I didn’t know about the Thu’um, Liriel’s been teaching me! It’s fascinating!”

Gods help him. Miraak wasn’t sure how old Alistair was exactly, but he must have been an adult when fighting the Blight if a young one, and that was a decade ago so… thirty? Maybe? But so was Dorian and Alistair just seemed so very much younger.

But he could Shout. That was good. Three of them in triangular formation… yes. That could work.

“Cassandra!” Miraak called to the fuming Seeker. “It appears we have two additional Dovahkiinne. This will require a little additional planning but I think it can work.”

Cassandra grunted but did not disagree.

“As you wish, Miraak. I will speak with the others, work out how to plan this. Maker willing, all will work out.”

It did take a little reorganisation, but eventually the Templars were ranged in an inner ring, targeting the Breach with their powers. The mages were on the outside, levitating three evenly spaced Dragonborns into the air. 

Three Dragon Aspects were shouted into being, Miraak repressing irritation at Alistair knowing that particular Shout, and then the Breach was there, right there, Oblivion spewing into the world.

“On me!” Miraak called “One, two, three, STRIN FEIM FUS!”

Shouts from the other two, Liriel’s kicking in moments after his, Alistair’s lagging slightly behind but both Shouts hitting the Breach along with Miraak’s.

And the Breach started to shrink, closing before their eyes, the magicka in the air fading and the noise calming down and then it was gone, green light blinking out as the Breach closed, leaving only a scar in the sky a little like an aurora.

The floating rocks around them started to sink, the backup wave of mages acting to slow their descent, along with the descent of the three Dragonborns. 

The magic blinked out entirely when Miraak was five feet above the ground, but he was ready for it and landed on his feet, hitting the floor and feeling tension he’d not realised he’d been holding unwinding and letting go.

“Miraak!”

Dorian. Gods, of course it was, the poor man must have been worried sick. Miraak ripped off the mask without even thinking about it, shaking hair loose then reaching out for Dorian who was running towards him.

Dorian dropping to his knees, falling into Miraak’s arms and Miraak held him, because Dorian felt real and present and solid and when he was there, Miraak felt real and present and solid, and he’d done it. He’d closed the Breach. He’d healed the Lok-Ahraan. What was the Thu’um for if not this?

He was shaking all over, raw emotions threatening to take over, but Dorian was here and Dorian grounded him, and Miraak didn’t feel vulnerable when Dorian was in his arms. Only loved. So very loved.

“We did it!” Miraak gasped. “We closed the Breach!”

“Yes,” Dorian gasped, and Miraak felt moisture on his cheek, and it wasn’t him. “Yes, you did it, you stopped it, I’m so proud of you!”

Miraak kissed his cheek and held him, hearing the cheering from the surrounding Inquisition, and inwardly wanting to join them, acknowledge the great victory, be the celebrated Herald.

But that would mean letting go of Dorian, and Miraak didn’t want to do that. Not yet. He settled for kissing Dorian, meaning it to just be brief but of course it ended up not being. Still, they broke off eventually, Miraak gazing down at Dorian’s beautiful face, loving the way Dorian was beaming up at him.

“Love you, fariiki,” Miraak murmured, stroking his cheek. And Dorian kissed his thumb and smiled right back.

“Love you too, amatus,” Dorian said, apparently no longer bothered about admitting the fact. About time.

Still, moments like this couldn’t last, and Miraak couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched, and then he remembered the other two. Looking up, he saw Liriel and Alistair, both standing, Alistair with an arm round Liriel’s shoulders, both looking at him in stunned amazement.

Fucking hell. They’d never seen him unmasked before, had they? Especially not Liriel.

“That’s what he looks like under there?” Alistair said, fascinated. “Hey, he’s human! I was thinking part-dragon or tentacles or three eyes or something.”

Not him as well. Bad enough Sera had spent the entire time making comments along those lines, and then she’d finally seen his face and actually looked disappointed. She’d had the nerve to call him plain. Plain!! At least Dorian had leapt to his defence and the resulting argument had entertained the entire tavern for at least half an hour.

At least Alistair seemed to approve. Liriel just looked confused.

“You can take it off,” Liriel breathed. “I mean, that’s ridiculous, of course you can, it’s not welded to your face or anything but… you took it off. You never took it off in Apocrypha.”

“No,” Miraak said, really not willing to open up emotionally towards her any more than he had to. 

“But you’ll happily take it off to kiss Dorian without even caring who’s watching – no, it wasn’t even to kiss him. You took it off as soon as you realised he was approaching and you hugged him first. He really matters to you.”

“Of course he does,” Miraak snapped, starting to lose patience. “Doesn’t your husband matter to you??”

“Obviously,” Liriel snapped, rolling her eyes. “Ugh. Never thought I’d say this, but you two are actually cute together. And… you did seal the Breach. And… Dorian’s approval seems to matter to you. As in, if he thought you were being a bastard, he’d leave you and it’d break your heart.”

Liriel knew far too damn much for Miraak’s liking.

“This is hardly any of your business, fahliil,” Miraak snapped, hand moving to cup the back of Dorian’s head and shield him against his chest.

“She’s right though,” Dorian said, somehow disentangling himself from Miraak’s embrace. “I mean, that nearly happened after I found out what you’d done back on Solstheim. I nearly did leave you. And the idea nearly broke you. And you did promise to be a better person if it’d make me happy.”

Miraak would do anything to make Dorian happy, but he wasn’t going to say that in front of Liriel.

“What is your point, Liriel,” Miraak said, gritting his teeth. “If you have something to say, say it.”

“You are still insufferable,” Liriel said, shaking her head. “But you’re doing a better job with the rifts and the Venatori and just operating here than I am. And you were on your own while I came with a force of Reachmen. And this place needs a Dragonborn, all right. I just… I don’t think I’m the Dragonborn it needs. And this is killing me to admit, so I’m going to say it once and get it over with. I’ve decided not to kill you after all. If you can grant me the same courtesy. And if you can save this place from whoever caused that thing. Without being a bastard in the process. I won’t interfere with Inquisition operations, in fact I’m seriously considering just going home and leaving you to it. Look, we don’t have to be enemies. None of this was remotely personal. I just wanted to stop you hurting people but if you’re no longer doing that but actively being helpful… I suppose it’s easier for everyone if I just let you get on with it. With your Inquisition. And your boyfriend. Who is all right.”

Miraak should not feel as relieved and happy and _grateful_ as he did on hearing all this, even if Dorian had just hugged him.

“You mean that,” Miraak said, still wary. “You’re backing off.”

“Yes,” Liriel said, sounding a bit more confident now she’d committed. “I mean, you’ve got all this infrastructure from nothing. You didn’t even use the Thu’um to get it. They’ll follow you. They won’t follow me. But that’s all right. This isn’t my home, but it could be yours. They’re not my people – but they are yours. It’d be ridiculous not to just let you get on with it if you’re using it all for good.”

She was… being reasonable. Showing mercy. He’d not expected that at all. He’d expected her relentlessly hunting him down to destroy him using any means at her disposal. He’d not expected… this.

_Because that’s what you would have done, but she’s not you._

No, she wasn’t. Hadn’t Dorian said as much? Female for a start. And also elven, and from what Miraak knew of her people, elves were _patient._ They did nothing uncautiously. High Elves in particular were known to study situations from all angles and wait before committing. They did nothing rashly and took killing seriously because it was so final. Perhaps this one had decided to wait and see where a human would not.

She was waiting to see what he’d do with all this. In that case, how could Miraak do other than put on a show?

Getting to his feet, Miraak pulled Dorian with him then stepped forward to Liriel and bowed, before straightening up and holding out his hand.

“Your Thu’um is strong, briinah,” he told her. “Thank you. We will restore order, I promise you.”

Liriel looked down at his outstretched hand and took it, shaking his hand, hers feeling ridiculously delicate and fragile in his but perhaps that was normal for elves.

“Appreciated,” Liriel said, finally smiling. “But if I may… don’t be too keen to restore all that was. The way they treat elves and mages round here is shameful. If you remake a world where we’re treated better than we have been… I can support that.”

Miraak let her go, glancing at Dorian and nodding.

“We do the best we can,” Miraak said, arm round Dorian. “If it is not possible to restore all the world to what it was, that’s to be expected, no?”

Liriel did grin at that and glanced at Alistair, who was also looking impressed.

“Am I allowed to like him now?” Alistair asked. “Now that he’s confirmed not actually evil?”

“Yes, you’re allowed to like him now,” Liriel said, smiling at Alistair. “It’ll make things easier, all things considered. Listen, Miraak, Alistair’s brought me information too, it wasn’t all just me teaching him to Shout. I think your Inquisition needs to hear it and… I need to get back to my husband, but Alistair might be better off with you. Something really odd is going on with the Grey Wardens, and I’m not certain it isn’t linked to this Elder One.”

“Leliana told me they’d all disappeared and was concerned about it,” Miraak said, thinking she might be interested in this too. “Very well. Come back to Haven with us and stay the night. Alistair can share his information with the Council and then we’ll see what can be done. He’s welcome to stay on if he wishes.”

“Yes!” Alistair laughed. “I promise I will be no trouble. And… Liriel’s told me a lot about being Dragonborn but you – you were the first, right? You can speak Dovahzul! You made your own Shouts! And worked out how to close the rifts all by yourself! You’ve got stories, right? You must have stories.”

No happy ones. Tales of kin long dead, a culture long gone. Miraak wasn’t entirely sure what he could tell Alistair. Mostly his story could be summed up as ‘don’t do that’. Still, he could perhaps teach him Dovahzul. And additional Shouts. And… oh, who knew. Still. Another Dovahkiin to talk to would be interesting, no doubt. And this one seemed friendly, at least.

“Dorian, it looks like your documentation on how to speak Dovahzul has acquired a test subject,” Miraak said, smiling. “Maybe his accent is as hysterical as yours is.”

Dorian protested at that, just as Alistair looked horrified at the idea of homework, but Miraak didn’t care. He’d done it, he’d closed the Breach. Even better, he’d actually made peace with his fellow Dragonborn – two of them in fact. It was quite the weight off his shoulders. There’d never been others before. Not as peers and allies. Never as friends. It was a prospect that actually intrigued him. 

Feeling lighter in his heart than he had in years, Miraak led them all back to Haven. They had a great victory to celebrate, after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

So this was Haven. Smaller than Liriel had expected. It really was just a village. Hah. A village with an army camped outside it. Turning into one anyway. And most of its personnel were lining the route down the mountain, cheering and clapping as the Herald led his victorious people home, the Breach clearly sealed.

Liriel always felt nervous around large, excited groups of humans. Too much potential for celebrations to get out of hand, and someone to decide the Altmer needed humbling. Which meant fights, which meant Liriel being forced to defend herself, and Liriel’s combat magic didn’t have a non-lethal version.

Thankfully, Alistair was here, Alistair who’d always been friendly, never treated her as less than, in fact he seemed to look up to her. And he was a respected and famous Grey Warden, no less, best friend of the elven mage Hero of Ferelden. That was welcome, but also proof to Liriel this place was never going to take elves or mages seriously. Their dragon-slaying hero had been both and yet there’d been no changes in wider society. A depressing thought.

Liriel wasn’t hopeful Miraak was going to change things in the way she’d like either but he seemed to have left behind his worst tendencies. She hoped. He seemed happy anyway, arm round Dorian, greeting people on the way, acknowledging all the praise, smiling and laughing and then every so often giving Dorian a hug and exchanging smiles with him. Liriel wasn’t sure what she’d expected but it wasn’t this.

It came to her then that she’d literally never seen Miraak happy before. Angry, proud, triumphant, even afraid. But never happy. Not like this.

It was a side of him she’d not even thought existed but here it was, and Liriel almost wished she had killed him before, because this was going to make it near impossible to kill him now. She hoped she’d never have to.

“Hey! Squid-face! Snog your boyfriend!”

Who the hell… Liriel tensed up, fully expecting Miraak to breathe fire and immolate the speaker, an elven woman in clothing held together with patchwork and with blonde hair that looked like it had been styled in the dark. But Miraak just grinned, stopped walking, took Dorian’s face in his hands and leaned down to kiss him, gently at first but swiftly turning more passionate, almost picking Dorian up as he pulled his lover close.

The elf promptly made a disgusted noise and ran off, and Miraak looked up, shaking his head.

“I will never understand that elf,” Miraak sighed, before taking Dorian’s hand in his.

Liriel really couldn’t imagine anyone calling Miraak Squid-Face and not dying, but here he was, apparently forgiving the offence in a friend. He really had changed.

Hard to believe it but apparently Liriel hadn’t known the real Miraak at all.

Progressing through the town took time, but eventually they reached the Chantry, where two women were waiting, one dark-skinned one with an elaborate golden outfit and the other a pale-skinned redhead who took one look at Alistair and ran to him, giving him a hug.

“Alistair!” she cried, the accent marking her out as one of those Orlesians. At least she wasn’t wearing a mask.

“Leli!” Alistair cried. “Mate! Good to see you!”

Hugging ensued as Leliana practically flung herself into his arms, and it turned out they’d fought together during the Fifth Blight. Leliana had been the camp bard at the time, and was now the Inquisition spymaster. And normally a lot more terrifying and taciturn, according to Dorian, and definitely not a hugger.

“Having the right people around can change us all for the better,” Miraak said, pulling Dorian a little closer and smiling at him. “You know that.”

The other woman was introduced as Ambassador Josephine Montilyet, the Inquisition’s chief diplomat, who seemed very impressed at Warden Alistair himself being here, called him ‘my lord’ and promised he’d have every comfort she could arrange while he was here.

And then everyone turned to Liriel, and you only had to look at her to know she was not of this place. 

“And this would be Liriel,” Cassandra said from behind her, hostility in every word. “The other Dragonborn.”

Josephine and Leliana were both watching her, surprise in both their eyes. They’d heard of her, but clearly the description hadn’t done her justice.

“You’re… Liriel?” Leliana breathed, cheeks going pink.

“I am,” Liriel told her. She didn’t find women attractive personally, but it was always nice to know when one of them developed a crush on her. “I’m the Dragonborn who nearly defeated your Herald. Fortunately for you all, I’ve relented. We sealed the Breach together, and I’ve decided I don’t need to hunt him any more. Not as long as he’s demonstrably atoning, or at least living peacefully.”

“And now she’s here to help,” Miraak said firmly, taking charge of the situation. “Niid faas, Leliana. If she turns, it is I who will bear the brunt. Now, you said you had information for me? Come, let’s use Josephine’s office, it’s more comfortable. Also, let’s get some chairs.”

The seating ended up being disused pews from the main Chantry nave but it was better than standing. Josephine poured wine for everyone (really quite good wine, it turned out), and Miraak settled back, watching Liriel curiously.

“So, you said you said some sort of message for me,” he said. “A warning? What should I be worrying about.”

“Dragon blood isn’t always a blessing, it turns out. We have vulnerabilities, too,” Liriel sighed. “Alistair, tell him.”

So Alistair explained just how Maric Theirin had died and that the Venatori had been responsible.

“They get hold of another Dragonborn, they can probably do it again,” Alistair said quietly. “I know the danger. Liriel’s fully intending to head home after this. But you needed warning. Especially as we heard you’d got on their bad side at Redcliffe. I mean, not that I disapprove or anything. But they’ve got it in for you anyway. They find out you’re Dragonborn, they might come after you too. We… thought you should know.”

Miraak had listened in silence, face betraying very little. At length he finally spoke.

“I am sorry about your father, Alistair. Were you close?”

“Close? Hardly. He didn’t bother raising me himself, just farmed me out to one of his vassals and never even visited. I got the distinction of being a royal bastard with none of the perks. I mean, he didn’t deserve to go the way he did but no, we weren’t close. Look, the Venatori have the means to harvest a Dragonborn’s blood and milk its power for their own, and this doesn’t bother you at all?”

Grin on Miraak’s face as he shook his head.

“No.”

Alistair turned to Liriel in disbelief.

“Is he… serious?”

Liriel wished she could say she was surprised but…

“I’m afraid so. I did warn you he was an egomaniac who thinks he’s invulnerable,” Liriel sighed.

“Don’t worry, Herald, we’ll increase your protection,” Cullen was saying. “They won’t get their hands on you.”

“I’ll monitor Venatori activity for signs of a magrallen,” Leliana promised. “No device, no problem.”

“Truly, this isn’t necessary,” Miraak said wearily. “They are already our foes for other reasons. And you have measures in place to prevent my capture anyway, yes? I am a Dovahkiin in my full power. King Maric did not even know the Thu’um and made the mistake of leaving his strunmah, his kingdom. He was weak. I am not. Still, the warning is welcome. Should they try, I will be ready.”

“Well, you weren’t wrong about the ego,” Alistair sighed, turning to Liriel. “I just hope his confidence is justified.”

“He figured out how to seal rifts on his own, somehow learnt the language by himself, and he’s got an entire Inquisition to protect him, he’s not wrong about being just more terrifying than your father was,” Liriel said, shrugging. “Look, we told him of the danger. That’s all we can do. The rest is up to him.”

“Indeed,” Miraak purred, eyes not leaving Alistair. “Now, you mentioned something of the Wardens. Who hunt darkspawn. And of which you are one. Tell me. If dragon blood draws them, and we shouldn’t enter the Deep Roads either, how are you not dead. They tell me you fought in a Blight and survived. Did your blood not call them?”

“No?” Alistair said, puzzled. “I mean, maybe not? I mean, we did always seem to be running into them but it was a Blight, they were everywhere. I’ve been in the Deep Roads since and… well, now that you mention it, some of the other Wardens seemed to think they were targeting me specifically but the numbers weren’t too out of the ordinary.”

“So it did call them but not… Liriel briinah, tell me you weren’t panicked by a mere few of them,” Miraak said, amused. “I would expect you to flee from nothing but a horde, still less your Rhan-Brenin husband.”

“It was a horde!” Liriel cried. “There were dozens of them! We were lucky to get out with our lives! Some didn’t. But… Alistair, you never had to worry about that?”

“No,” Alistair said, frowning. “Only if we walked into a nest or something. Am I… not as good at being Dragonborn or something?”

“Don’t say that,” Liriel told him, thinking there had to be more to this. “You’re learning the Shouts just fine! The only thing I’ve done that you haven’t was kill a dragon and take its soul.”

“Siillesedov,” Miraak said softly. “Yes, that might be it. I’m carrying a few. I am sure Liriel is too. Every Thu’um you learn wakes a little more of yourself, and you take a little more of it into your own soul. And unspent dragon souls – that can only make you more obvious to these creatures. You never learnt the Thu’um until now and you’ve never taken a dragon’s soul. Should that happen – who knows.”

“Are you saying now that I know how to Shout, the darkspawn horde might come after me next?” Alistair said, slowly digesting the news that his life’s calling had just turned into a liability.

“I don’t know,” Miraak said, shrugging. “Did you wish to test this?”

“No!” Alistair cried. “I mean… I don’t know. I need to think about this. I need… wait. I can sense them. Here. Not here. Not yet. That direction.”

He indicated the front gate. Miraak glanced at Cullen, alarmed.

“Get out there, rally the troops,” Miraak snapped. “Josephine, initiate the evacuation procedure. Leliana, we have a Deep Roads entrance near Haven??”

“Not that I’m aware,” Leliana said, shaking her head. “The Dwarves never came out here but… I suppose there might be tunnels? But we’ve surveyed the area in detail, we’ve found nothing that even resembles a Deep Roads entrance.”

And then Haven’s alarm bell started ringing and screaming started from the village, and Miraak cursed savagely in Dovahzul, reaching for his mask.

“We are under attack,” Miraak growled. “My apologies. Haven’s hospitality is about to take a downturn. You may flee if you wish… but I fear we will need all available warriors.”

“Like hell, we’re staying to help, aren’t we?” Alistair said, glancing at Liriel as he got up. Liriel closed her eyes, rubbing her temples, but she nodded.

“I hope you’re wrong about the darkspawn,” Liriel sighed. Because one thought wouldn’t leave her mind. What if whoever it was had come for the three of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Out in Haven, and there was the smell of smoke in the air, the mages camp already on fire, mages fleeing for Haven round the far side of the lake while their colleagues fought a rearguard action… and the source of the chaos was an invasion force, not of darkspawn but glowing Red Templars.

Miraak had heard of them but never seen them, and while Liriel had fought them, all she knew was that they were Templars corrupted somehow. While Alistair stared at them all, Blight sense screaming at him, and he wasn’t sure how but they were Blighted somehow.

“That’s our darkspawn horde?” Alistair said faintly.

“I didn’t know there were so many,” Liriel whispered.

“Not as many as there were, a good number of the Order defected to our ranks,” Miraak said, surveying the scene. “Cullen, a strategy. Now.”

“The main force is still over the hill, it’s just advance parties here – if we can get to the trebuchets, fire them into the mountains, the avalanche should stop them. Herald, I hate to ask it of you, but seeing you lead the fight would really help morale.”

“I am Atmoran,” Miraak said, nodding. “You do not need to ask. I bring my zeymah and briinah Dovahkiinne with me. Also Cassandra and Vivienne, it should be enough. We’ll reinforce whoever you have out there.”

“You’re not taking me?” Dorian asked, having not heard his name mentioned. Miraak slowly turned, shaking his head.

“Not this time, lokaal. I need you in Haven itself in case they break through. Can you defend the alchemy stores? Too many flammable substances, or valuable supplies I don’t want the enemy getting their hands on. Use whatever magic you need to to keep my people safe, we are at war here.”

Tacit permission to use necromancy, and indeed blood magic if he had to. Dorian nodded, not liking any of this, but what choice did he have?

“Don’t you dare die on me, I will be very cross,” Dorian told him, before hugging him tightly then leaving in a hurry before his emotions got the better of him and he ended up making a scene.

Miraak watched him go then turned to Liriel.

“Briinah. If it looks like they are about to take me prisoner and it isn’t possible to prevent it, you must kill me.”

“Wait – what??” Liriel wasn’t sure she’d heard that right.

“You heard,” Miraak said quietly. “They cannot get their hands on my blood. And there is no other who could kill me. No one remotely worthy. I couldn’t ask you while Dorian was here. He will not thank you for it. None will. But you will have done the right thing. Don’t let me fall and be used for evil. I am done being the pawn of others.”

“It will not come to that,” Liriel said firmly. “But if it does… all right.”

Trust Miraak to suddenly start requesting a mercy-killing now. This man was clearly never going to not be a pain in the rear end. Still, it wasn’t going to come to that. Liriel hoped.

Hammering on the door and a voice called out, a voice Liriel and Alistair both recognised.

“You need to open the gate! I can’t help unless you open!”

Really not true, but Cole knocking before entering was frankly personal growth.

“Let him in, he’s a friend!” Liriel cried. “Cole, are you all right?”

He didn’t like crowds so she’d said he could hide until she called him and hadn’t really looked since. This wasn’t how she’d wanted to introduce him but none of this was exactly ideal and at least he was all right.

Miraak glanced at her and told Cullen to let him in, and in Cole walked, face hidden under the hat brim and an advance party of Red Templars and Tevinter soldiers lying dead in the snow behind, throats cut with a precision Cicero would be proud of.

Liriel hoped he was all right too. She’d seen him briefly, Miraak had had him take their gear for storage. Liriel’s pack had contained Auriel’s Bow, a selection of high-end arrows and the Ancient Shrouded Armour refitted for Cicero. About time he got his things back. Just in time, from the look of it. He’d need them in this.

“Who are you? Why are you here? Liriel, is he with you?” Miraak was firing questions at the spirit, voice indicating he was not exactly pleased.

“His name’s Cole, I found him in the woods a few weeks ago,” Liriel said, moving to Cole’s side. “I brought him here. He’s… he’s a spirit. In human form. Which is so unusual I had to keep him. He’s harmless, I promise, he’s a spirit of Compassion! Er… apart from the being able to stab people part.”

Miraak shook his head, staring at Cole.

“Restrict your knifework to my foes, Cole the Spirit,” Miraak said, note of warning in his voice. It was a friendlier reaction than Madanach’s so Liriel supposed that was something. “You are offering aid? Or was it Liriel you wished to speak with?”

“No. It’s you they’re after,” Cole said, lifting his head and staring back at Miraak, blue eyes seeming unbothered by the mask. Knowing him, he could probably see Miraak’s real face through it. “I saw the army on the way, came to warn you! They’re trying to hurt you, the Elder One and his army! You… probably already know.”

“I didn’t know it was the Elder One but perhaps I should have,” Miraak sighed. “Do you know any more? Did he come in person? Who is he really?”

“There,” Cole whispered, pointing to a crag near the lake, where two figures had emerged, clearly surveying the scene. One was a human male in Templar armour. The other… too tall to be human. Claws more like a Hagraven’s. Did it have red lyrium growing out of it?? And… Liriel had just screamed and Alistair was staring at it incredulously.

“It looks like a darkspawn emissary but they don’t lead armies like this,” Alistair breathed. “Is that… Corypheus??”

“What? But he’s dead!” Cassandra gasped. “If I find that dwarf has lied to me…”

“Who is he?” Miraak demanded. “Tell me! And what does Varric have to do with all this?”

“He’s one of the magisters who caused the Blights by breaking into the Fade,” Alistair said grimly. “The Maker turned him into a darkspawn and cast him out. Varric didn’t lie, he was dead. The Wardens imprisoned him, Varric’s friend Hawke found him and then killed him. I know one of the eyewitnesses personally, she told me the story afterwards. He was definitely dead. Except now he isn’t and he’s attacking us. Well. Specifically he’s attacking you, Miraak. I think you’ve pissed him off.”

“You took his mages,” Cole said solemnly. “He’s very angry that you took his mages.”

“Can’t imagine he’s pleased about the Breach either. Also we heard some very interesting stories about you in a few taverns on the way down here in which you’re really a priest of the Old Gods who once rebelled against the priesthood centuries before the First Blight and got snatched away by the Maker before they could kill you,” Liriel added. “And that you’re now back by the Maker’s will to fix the world. I really hope his agents haven’t heard that one. He’ll be even more annoyed. Considering he’ll never have heard of a Miraak in his life.”

Miraak did like that story. It was a good one. Only it seemed it may have worked too well.

“Matters not. We fight. He dies by my Thu’um and I will finish the job properly this time. You two are with me, yes?”

“Yes,” Liriel said, seeming to have recovered herself. “He’s one darkspawn. I can handle one darkspawn, never mind his minions. Alistair?”

Alistair shook his head, stepping back.

“You can’t take me with you,” Alistair said softly. “He can mind-control Wardens through the Blight in our blood. I’ll be a liability! Look, leave me in Haven. I’ll keep a low profile. But if he senses I’m here, he just got his own Dragonborn.”

“What?? But… gods, I must have taught you nearly every Thu’um I know,” Liriel whispered, appalled. “I didn’t know… Miraak, if Corypheus does try to take over Alistair’s mind, could you do something? You must know more about that sort of thing than anyone?”

“Oh, so now you want my counsel on mind-control?” Miraak said, amused. “Well. I could bring Alistair to my will instead, but he would prefer his own, I am sure. Alistair, it is the Blight in you that makes it possible?”

“Yes. It only works on Wardens, not anyone else,” Alistair confirmed. “Why, what are you thinking?”

“Hold still. And… I apologise. SLEN SKAH VO!”

The Thu’um sent Alistair staggering back, collapsing on to the snow, shaking violently and vomiting horrific black bile, heaving his guts until he had nothing to give before rolling aside, shaking all over.

“What the hell did you just do to me,” Alistair whispered, even as Liriel grimaced at the vomit and went to help him up, her Restoration magic seeking out problems.

“Got rid of the Blight in you,” Miraak said, nodding. “You will have no trouble with Corypheus’s Blight magic now.”

“No trouble…” Alistair sat up, rubbing his temples and then he gasped.

“It’s gone. The Calling, the Taint… it’s gone. You… you got rid of it??”

“Yes,” Miraak said, shrugging. “You said it was killing you slowly. Now it is not. I do not see the problem.”

“You don’t… you just made me not a Warden any more, and you don’t see the problem??” Alistair shouted at him, staggering to his feet, hand going to his sword… at least until Liriel stopped him.

“Alistair, please, he just made you immune to Corypheus,” Liriel gasped. “And you’re on the run from them anyway. Look, when things are more settled, we’ll get you re-Joined. Your friend Lyra, maybe she’ll help.”

“Maybe,” Alistair whispered. Then he turned to Miraak, still glaring. “Fucking hell, you are such a bastard. You didn’t even ask me!”

“What other choice was there,” Miraak said, shrugging. “We have no time, zeymah. The enemy is here. Will you fight?”

“Don’t have much choice, do I?” Alistair snapped. “I’m going to imagine every single one of them is you. You utter cock.”

Infuriatingly, Miraak actually laughed.

“That’s the spirit. Now you know why she put so much effort into trying to kill me. Turn that rage on your foes and they will fall before your Thu’um. Now, where is - Vivienne, there you are. Ready to fight? It will be the battle of our lives and the last of theirs.”

“That’s what I always admired about you, darling, you’re always so optimistic,” Vivienne purred, glancing at Alistair, stepping wordlessly round the pool of black vomit without even commenting, and then her eyes falling on Liriel.

“The other Dragonborn. A powerful mage, I hear. Let’s hope the stories of your prowess are true. You’ll need it.”

“She’s skilled, Vivienne,” Miraak said, face turning to the gates. “Let’s get out there. We have trebuchets to liberate.”

Out into the night, and the trebuchet nearest the gate was already under attack, Red Templars already there fighting Inquisition soldiers. At least until Miraak’s Thu’um broke the lines and sent the Red Templars flying. 

From then, battle was joined, Liriel’s magic and Miraak’s Thu’um and Alistair’s swordplay cutting down anyone in their paths. Cassandra was there too, able to hold off three at once before magic from Vivienne or Liriel cut them down.

“You’re a battlemage?” Liriel called to Vivienne, seeing utterly impractical gear and yet no fear whatsoever. Vivienne had clearly seen war before.

“I’m a Knight-Enchanter, darling, we train for the fray,” Vivienne said, and then a Templar scout tried to rush her and Vivienne pivoted, summoning an energy sword to her hand and carving its head from its body. Which was impressive… but Liriel had learnt how to summon bound weaponry in her first six months of mandatory national service.

“I studied at a medical school,” Liriel said, seeing another one heading for Miraak. “But they did make me do compulsory military training. We had that on our curriculum too.”

They did, but most Thalmor soldiers never thought to take the spells apart to find out how they worked, nor had they studied Conjuration with Matriarch Keirine. Liriel flicked her fingers and a Bound Sword materialised inside the hapless Templar… and as it disappeared again, the Templar collapsed, expiring in the snow.

“Keep practising,” Liriel said sweetly. “You’ll figure it out.”

Vivienne glared at her but they had no time to argue. The trebuchet was secure and the crew could get it aimed and firing, but the other one had gone quiet. Investigating revealed Templars already there and Inquisition personnel dead.

“We’re too late,” Liriel whispered, dismayed. 

“We avenge them,” Miraak snapped. “We take the trebuchet back and fire it. It cannot be that hard.”

Killing the enemies wasn’t. Figuring out the trebuchet was a little more complicated but Cassandra knew the basics and Alistair had studied diagrams of how they worked, and Vivienne levitated the ballast into the bowl once Alistair had winched it down into firing position. And then Miraak cut the safety cord and launched the payload into the mountains.

The mountains roared their own Thu’um into the night as snow and ice poured into the valley below, smothering the advancing forces. Corypheus himself was nowhere to be seen. Cheering from Haven and for a few sweet moments it seemed they might be safe for now.

And then the dragon attacked. Soaring overhead, black against the night sky, red fire smashing into the trebuchet, sending them all flying, Vivienne’s barrier only just flaring into life in time to stop them getting skewered by debris.

“He’s got a dragon??” Liriel gasped, staring up at it from where she was lying on the ground. Miraak got to his feet, wordlessly pulled her up and glared at the beast, flying round for another shot.

“That is cheating, but no matter,” Miraak growled with no sense of irony whatsoever. “Leave this to me. GOL HAH DOV!”

Miraak’s Thu’um was true and the green light of Bend Will hit the dragon… which changed its course not at all, swept over them and spat another ball of red corruption at them that only Vivienne’s barrier saved them from. Again.

“Having problems, are we, my dear?” Vivienne said tartly. “Don’t worry. This sort of thing happens to us all at one time or another.”

“IT DOESN’T-!” Miraak threw his hands up, livid. “That Thu’um should work! No dragon should be able to withstand it!”

“Are Thedosian dragons different – no, no, I mean yes, but Bend Will works fine on that Crestwood dragon! How many species have you got??” Liriel cried. She didn’t often worry but seeing a dragon just shrug off Miraak’s favourite Thu’um was unnerving.

“Just the one,” Alistair said, staring at it wheeling around. “But… it’s Blighted, I think. Fuck, look out, it’s coming back!”

It was definitely coming for them, but Liriel had something up her sleeve.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

Dragonrend’s blue light was spot on, but the dragon didn’t even flinch, and as Vivienne wordlessly flung up a barrier again, Miraak gave up.

“Back to Haven, now!”

He did not want to look at Vivienne’s smirking face or Cassandra glaring at him, or worst of all, Alistair’s confused stare. He did not want to think about his Thu’um failing him. At least Liriel’s hadn’t worked either. 

Back to Haven, and as they reached the gate, the dragon was coming in again. 

Vivienne had a barrier ready, Liriel had some spells ready to go, but it wasn’t Liriel’s magic that hit the dragon. It was spells belonging to another. An elven mage who’d been with the last of the retreating mages, sending up magic to protect her fleeing people.

Grand Enchanter Fiona, who’d sent twin fireballs up at the dragon, lowering her eyes to see the Dragonborns there. She inclined her head at Miraak, actually smiled at Liriel, pointedly ignored Vivienne, and then she saw Alistair bringing up the rear, stopping to join her as they both made for Haven itself.

“Hello!” Alistair gasped, face lighting up as he recognised the mage who’d lowered him from the Breach, who’d been the first one to check on him as he’d reached the ground. She’d been kind, healing a few minor bumps, smile on her face but sadness in her eyes for some reason. But she’d congratulated him, helped him up, gone to assist Liriel and then left them both to it. Given that he and Liriel at that point had both realised Miraak had his mask off and was cuddling his boyfriend, he’d not thought about Fiona since, but here she was again! The famous ex-Warden Grand Enchanter. The only Warden to ever be kicked out.

Weren’t they going to have some things in common now.

“Hello,” Fiona said, seeming somewhat nervous. “What happened? Don’t Liriel and Miraak fight dragons all the time? Why are they fleeing this one?”

“Their Thu’ums didn’t work,” Alistair said grimly. “I don’t know why. Not really. Well, I might have an idea. We can talk later, come on!”

Flaming village. Red Templars taking advantage of the chaos. Villagers in peril. There was no time to think, let alone talk. Just fighting, and plucking Haven’s citizens from peril, Miraak making up for not killing the dragon by slaughtering his ground-based foes as brutally as he could manage. Bend Will wasn’t working on the Red Templars either but his frost breath did the job. 

Then back to the Chantry, and Miraak looked for Dorian above all, seeing him and sweeping the mask off to pull Dorian into his arms.

“Miraak, what happened, are you all right? You didn’t kill the dragon?”

“No. It won’t land, and it’s good at avoiding magic,” Miraak growled. “I couldn’t get Bend Will to work, Dorian.”

Dorian said nothing, just holding Miraak tight, and while he didn’t approve of the Shout, he knew what it meant to Miraak. To have it fail him… not good. Miraak must be feeling horrible right now.

“The situation’s not good, Herald, that dragon stole back any time you might have bought us,” Cullen said wearily. “Herald, there’s no tactics to make this survivable. They’ve won this one.”

Miraak closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“There has to be a way,” he growled. “This can’t be the end, it can’t!”

“It’s one dragon,” Liriel snapped, hands on her hips. “Listen, we go back out there and fight it. We can bring it down the old-fashioned way. It’s not invulnerable!”

“Nor are we,” Miraak said softly, surveying the terrified, sobbing mass of people, who’d all been relying on him to save him from the advancing dragon horde… and he’d failed them. Again. Gods fucking damn it, would nothing ever go right in his life?

“He’s after you,” Cole said, blinking as he materialised at Miraak’s elbow. “He doesn’t care about Haven. He wants his rival dead. He fears you.”

Hah. He’d had to run from a dragon – a _dragon._ That wasn’t just bad, that was humiliating. But… he could use fear.

“If I go out to fight him one on one, maybe he’d leave the rest of you,” Miraak said thoughtfully.

“Or he might massacre us all – Miraak, he doesn’t have any honour,” Liriel sighed. “He’s not going to just accept a challenge to a duel.”

Cole pointed at the nearby figure of Chanceller Roderick, who’d been impaled by a Templar, and didn’t look long for this world regardless of the battle’s outcome.

“He wants to talk. Listen!”

“The summer path,” Roderick wheezed. “All the others died at the Conclave… I’m the only one who remembers.”

It turned out there was a pilgrimage path out of the back of the Chantry, a potential evacuation route, and Miraak realised all was not lost.

“Liriel, heal him. Cullen, start organising the evacuation. If he’s after me, I can buy you time.”

“I was going to suggest a party go out to reach the last trebuchet, turn it around, bury Haven and take him with us,” Cullen said, nodding. “But perhaps we could get out of here first. But… what about you.”

“I will end him and join you,” Miraak said, still unwilling to admit defeat. “Cullen, don’t fear for me.”

“ _I_ fear for you!” Dorian cried. “Look, we’ll go with you. Liriel, you’ll help, won’t you? Alistair?”

“I’m in,” Alistair promised, as was Liriel, getting up from healing an incredulous Roderick who now wasn’t going to die, it seemed.

“Obviously,” Liriel said. “I have a point to prove.”

“No!” Miraak snapped. “I do this alone. If I don’t come back, the world still needs a Dragonborn. The Inquisition will need a leader. They’ll follow a veteran of the Fifth Blight.”

“What,” Alistair whispered, going pale. “I’m not – I’m not a leader, Miraak! We established that at the Landsmeet! Anora does the ruling, I just go around fighting monsters and saving people! No leading!”

“We don’t have a choice, with me gone, you and Liriel are the only ones who can close rifts!” Miraak snapped. “And this isn’t Liriel’s home! I’m sure she’ll help but they will follow you.”

Alistair stared at Liriel, who didn’t look unsympathetic. 

“Of course I’ll help,” Liriel said gently. “But Miraak, you’re not even dead.”

“No,” Miraak agreed. But even so, his Thu’um had failed him and he had no idea what else Corypheus could do.

“I think you’ll survive,” Liriel said confidently. “You’re good at that. But I will look after Alistair for you. Go on, Miraak. Show him who the real Dragonborn is. Alistair, come on. He’s got this.”

Liriel led Alistair away, and then he was just left with Dorian.

“Dorian, I can’t take you with me,” Miraak said softly. “Not this time. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry!” Dorian cried. “You’re risking your life alone, and that’s all you can say?? You’re going to break my heart if you don’t come back!”

“Then I will come back,” Miraak said, smiling despite himself as he stroked Dorian’s face. “Dorian. My lokaal. I love you deeply. Whatever happens, never forget that.”

“I know. Maker, I hate you,” Dorian whispered before pulling Miraak to him for one last kiss. Miraak closed his eyes, lips on Dorian’s, holding to him, hungrily savouring every last touch, knowing that if he died tonight, he wanted his last thoughts to be of the man who’d stolen his heart for good.

Finally letting Dorian go, he handed him over to Iron Bull who took Dorian off him and wished him luck. And with the Chantry emptying, Miraak could put it off no longer. Mask back in place, Miraak called Dragon Aspect and strode out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With no Anchor I had to get creative. And what's more powerful than a Dragonborn versus a Breach. Three Dragonborns versus a Breach. Plus Liriel and Miraak working together for once? The world isn't ready.
> 
> Next chapter is Miraak facing off against Corypheus and the aftermath.
> 
> Dovahzul notes:
> 
> Mu vokrii lok - we restore (lit. unkill) the sky
> 
> Lok-Ahraan - Sky Wound, i.e the Breach.
> 
> Thu'umu hilkaan - our Thu'um combined
> 
> Fahliil - elf
> 
> Siillesedov - dragon souls
> 
> Briinah - sister
> 
> Zeymah - brother


	15. Daar Lein Los Di!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Miraak to face his rival one on one, and while a former priest of the Old Gods and a former Priest of the Dov have much in common, their lives took very different turns. The resulting fight isn't exactly a victory for either... but Miraak's Thu'um gives him the edge and an unexpected gift. Meanwhile, the Inquisition have made it to safety, but with their Herald's fate unknown, many fear the worst, including Dorian who is not handling the idea well. Thankfully Liriel's got a plan, and it might just keep Dorian from falling apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left you on quite the cliffhanger last time, didn't I? So here's the next one. Miraak and Corypheus finally meet and throw down! And yes, there's sass. And monologuing. Corypheus has heard the stories and he's Not Happy.
> 
> Warnings for smuttyness towards the end, but there's not a lot of detail.

With no one around to judge him and little left to lose, Miraak wasted no time deploying aid from Apocrypha. Two Seekers and a Lurker joined him, and Miraak took the fight to the foe. 

Bend Will didn’t work on the Red Templars either, but no matter. His other Thu’ums worked just fine, and the Templars fell before Voice and magic. Getting to the trebuchet was the easy part. Defending it from the invading horde once there… harder. But it turned out it wasn’t just him and Apocrypha’s denizens. Magic not his own, and one of the Red Templars exploded in golden light. Then the sound of a bowstring and another fell to the searing golden light.

A mysterious archer with a magic bow that took out Red Templars beautifully. Miraak had no idea who that might be, but they were clearly helping so he didn’t question, and redoubled his own efforts. Between the Apocrypha creatures, Miraak and his new archer friend, the Templars fell in droves. The Lurker finally fell to the Templar behemoth that seemed to be leading, although it took the crystalline monstrosity with it. And then there was silence.

“Come out, little archer,” Miraak called, amused. “Have no fear. I am not in the business of harming my allies. I merely wished to thank you.”

Awkward shuffling, and Cesaire emerged, removing a leather hood with a red mask, dressed in black and red armour that fit him remarkably well, with a shiny golden bow on his back. Not just any bow either.

“Is that Auriel’s bow??” Miraak breathed. “I didn’t know that was even real. Where did you find it??”

“It was in Liriel’s pack,” Cesaire said, patting it. “Along with this armour! A little adjustment and Cesaire got it to fit him. Cesaire felt in need of protection, you see. So Cesaire borrowed Mistress Liriel’s things. Do you think she will be very angry with me?”

“I will protect you,” Miraak promised, still dying to know just how Liriel got hold of the legendary bow in the first place, never mind just happened to have it with her. Would have served her better against the dragon. But never mind. Apparently Cesaire knew one end of an arrow from the other and had used it well. “Come on, help me with this then get yourself out of here. Corypheus is not your fight.”

Cesaire grimaced at the idea of manual labour but did help with the aiming, while Miraak loaded the rock ballast – using magic obviously. And then they just needed Corypheus.

“Go on, go,” Miraak urged Cesaire. “Get yourself out of here. The plan is to bury Haven. You don’t need to be here for this. I can keep him talking.”

“His Thu’um is no match for yours!” Cesaire chirped cheerfully, giggling to himself. Then he nodded, smile fading.

“Kill well, Dragonborn,” Cesaire said softly, replacing his hood. And then he was slipping off into the night, disappearing into the shadows like he was born to them.

Miraak had to wonder, not for the first time, if Cesaire was really all he seemed. Glancing around, he saw virtually no arrows from that bow lying around, only the ones embedded in corpses. Had Cesaire really had all his shots on target? And… he must have been following since Miraak left the Chantry. Or… scouting ahead? Miraak had fought plenty personally, yes, but he’d also come across dead ones with their throats cut. Had Cesaire really crept ahead and dealt with a few before Miraak got there??

Miraak began to realise Cesaire was not remotely what he seemed and was no more a helpless non-combatant than Miraak, and had an awful lot of questions to answer. For example, that armour fit him very well indeed, and he would not have had time to adjust it much. Also a Dragonborn who didn’t normally use archery wouldn’t bring an expensive legendary elven artefact with her for no reason, and why would a simple valet steal her things? Even if attacked, he wouldn’t have decided to keep the things afterwards while their owner lived, still less come after Miraak when he didn’t have to.

This was all pointing in one direction, and someone definitely had questions to answer, but Miraak had other priorities right now. Such as Corypheus, who would surely have noticed the fight, and that his own forces hadn’t won it.

Sure enough, Corypheus was on his way. Rush of air that preceded one of the Dov approaching, then the ground shuddered and Corypheus was dismounting his dragon and approaching.

Miraak beckoned the Seekers to him and folded his arms, watching this darkspawn magister approach. Ruins of a magister’s robes, not enough skin to cover his innards, red lyrium embedded in him too, twisted almost beyond recognition… but the face had been a man’s once. Miraak wondered who – what – he’d been like. Like him, perhaps? Might they have been friends? Lovers, even? Who knew.

Now they were just rivals.

“Welcome to Haven, Corypheus,” Miraak purred. “I would offer you a drink but… you appear to have destroyed the tavern. You know, if you wished tinvaak, there are more civilised ways of going about it. Perhaps I might have welcomed conversation with the one who made it possible for me to return to this world. You know, your Breach saved my life.”

“Silence, impostor!” Corypheus roared at him, raising a strange orb in his left claw. “Your lies will end tonight! Do you think I have not heard? Tales of you serving the old gods then rebelling? A rebellion we both know full well never happened? And being snatched away by the Maker? I have walked in his city. There were no golden streets, no holy choirs, only chaos and corruption. I have seen the throne of the Maker, deceiver. And it was empty!”

“Yes, I heard the tale from the Chantry,” Miraak said, circling to make Corypheus move to keep up with him. “A tale of you breaking into heaven and corrupting it and yourself in the process. It’s ironic, you know. We both walked in the Fade, you voluntarily, me a demon’s prisoner. You were trying to break in. I was trying to escape. And here you are, five minutes in Oblivion and corrupted beyond saving. Whereas I was there for four thousand years and I’m still whole. My lover even tells me I’m beautiful. I guess we know who’s stronger.”

“SILENCE!” Corypheus roared, unleashing power from that orb of his and sending Miraak staggering, Ebonyflesh and his robes absorbing most of it, but it still stung. “The Anchor. The mark the elf stole. Where is it. What happened to it?”

The elf? That must be the one who’d died in the Fade.

“The elf is dead. If by the Anchor you mean the mark on their hand… it’s gone. It died with them and the Fade claimed it back. Why, what is it?”

“It was supposed to bring certainty where there was none. To correct this Blighted world, champion withered Tevinter and bring you all the ruler and god you require!” Corypheus raged at him. But then he composed himself and shrugged. “No matter. I will find another way. I have other plans. But as for you, pretender to a dragon’s power… I will not suffer a rival. You will die tonight, in pain, and you will know before the end who you have truly been pretending to be!”

Miraak staggered up, feeling his mage armour blink out and seeing a dragon whose will he couldn’t bend prowling behind its master. Alistair had said it was Blighted, and up close it looked it. Black, reeking, corruption taking hold… not a Dovah but no dragon deserved to suffer like that. It must be in pain. But Miraak could do little to help it. He had enough time for one Thu’um, and Bend Will clearly didn’t work on Blighted creatures. Why, he had no idea. A question for later. For now, he had moments to act, one Thu’um before Corypheus raised that focusing orb again.

Hmm… the orb.

Miraak concentrated not on Corypheus but the orb in his hand, and decided an artefact that powerful really shouldn’t be in Corypheus’s hands.

“GOL!”

Bend Will hit the orb and its power blinked out.

“What…” Corypheus gasped. “What did you do???”

“I shall be having that,” Miraak gloated, holding out his hand, sensing the orb bonded to him now, and sure enough, it flew from Corypheus’s grasp to Miraak’s hand.

“Shall we see what this does to my Thu’um?” Miraak purred, already sensing what he could do with this. It was a focus, a way of concentrating power then projecting it. He could do with this what he’d done with the All-Maker Stones. A smaller, portable All-Maker Stone. What couldn’t he do with it?

Real fear in Corypheus’s eyes, and then the monster staggered back to his dragon, mounting it and taking flight.

“I will return, deceiver!” Corypheus shouted. “I have other plans in the works. Your Inquisition is in ruins! You will not stand against me!”

The dragon soared off into the night, and Miraak grinned, glancing down at the orb. Yes, they’d suffered and many had died. But their enemy had a face and a name now, and a story that would terrify all Thedas into sending aid. And Miraak had his orb. Giving it an experimental spin, Miraak let it hover in midair, watching it gleefully. Wait until Dorian saw this.

“He ran away!”

Cole, who’d appeared from out of nowhere, staring at the orb.

“Yes, Cole, he ran,” Miraak said, still grinning. “His Voice was no match for mine. I’ve seen my enemy and he is weak.”

“Haven burning, dying, screaming, an army at his command, a dragon, power beyond imagining. Not weak… but he ran from you,” Cole whispered, looking almost fearful. “You took his orb. He’ll be very angry you took his orb.”

“Let him,” Miraak laughed, taking the orb back into his hands. “With this, the world is mine. Daar lein los di!”

Cole flinched, and a hand reached for a knife that might have ended Miraak there and then, with Miraak too distracted by his new toy to notice. But another shadow moved and Cesaire glided out of nowhere, hand clamping on Cole’s shoulder.

“Liriel has ordered his life, Spirit Boy,” Cesaire purred. “So Cesaire will keep him that way. Hello All-Powerful Herald! Did you kill him?”

“No, but I have his orb,” Miraak said, unsurprised to see Cesaire completely ignoring orders. “Cesaire, I distinctly recall telling you to leave.”

“Yes, but I suspected treachery and crept back,” Cesaire said cheerfully, lowering his hood. “You were very impressive, sir! He will think twice before attacking again!”

“Yes, but he will do it,” Miraak sighed. And they had to be ready. Haven lay in ruins and the location wasn’t defensible anyway. Still, there might be things here they could salvage. Not to mention Miraak’s cabin was out of the way and might still be intact.

Miraak glanced at Cesaire, who was almost certainly lying about who he really was… but he’d stayed to help and hadn’t had to, and was loyal enough to have stuck around anyway. Questioning him could wait.

“Let’s find my cabin, see if it’s liveable,” Miraak sighed. “I don’t think they’re coming back tonight. We should go after the Inquisition, but I’m not risking the mountains by night. We’ll catch up in the morning, and I’m sure they’ll send scouts back to recover supplies. Niid faas. I know the mountains. They will not be moving fast, and we can cover more ground by day than them.”

Of course, that meant Dorian all on his own, not sure if Miraak had survived or not, and that did bother Miraak… but Dorian was in no danger and he’d see him again soon enough. Better to rest tonight and find him tomorrow than get lost in the mountains and go the same way his mother had.

Memories of his mother’s frozen body being brought in and Miraak shuddered, not wanting to think about it. It still brought tears to his eyes. No, he’d spare Dorian that.

So off to the cabin it was, and wonder of wonders, it was actually intact. Miraak salvaged a bed from one of the half-ruined next-door cabins for Cesaire before climbing into his own bed.

_I made it, lokaal. Wherever you are, I hope you’re all right._

Closing his eyes, Miraak drifted off to sleep. 

Beside him, Cole materialised, staring down at him, wondering if he should end Miraak now. But no. Not with Corypheus still out there. And… he wasn’t all bad. While Miraak slept, or was sleepy enough for his mind’s dragon fire to be winding down, Cole could see his thoughts. He still mourned his mother. He loved Dorian and worried for him. He could still love… and he loved Dorian and would do as Dorian asked.

That was a lot to put on one man, but Cole was a spirit of compassion and couldn’t risk falling back to killing again. His hand fell away from his knife. Miraak could live. For now. He’d wait to see what the Inquisition did next before acting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They’d made it to the ridge, and had a good view of the battle below, watching Haven burn and Miraak’s magic light the night, even as his Thu’um echoed through the valley. 

Then Corypheus landing his dragon in person, magic flaring, one single Thu’um from Miraak, but not the three he’d normally Shout.

And then Corypheus leaving on his dragon… and the trebuchet hadn’t fired.

“Wasn’t he… supposed to bury Haven?” Alistair said, frowning.

“Yes,” Cassandra said shortly. “And he has not done so. Cullen, what does this mean?”

“How the hell would I know?” Cullen snapped. “Look, we know Miraak’s a law unto himself. He doesn’t follow orders from anyone. Dorian’s about the only person he ever listens to. Him deviating from the plan is hardly a surprise. But… it’s also possible Corypheus succeeded.”

“He only Shouted once,” Liriel whispered, horrified. “He always uses all three, more power that way. What if…”

It was a sobering possibility, that the First Dragonborn might have met his end tonight. And the First Dragonborn’s lover heard all this, turned and walked away, unable to speak, unable to even cry out, throat and chest on fire and tears obscuring his vision, because if Miraak was gone, truly gone…

Who the hell could ever replace or live up to a man like Miraak?

No one. And so Dorian moved swiftly through the camp, meeting no one’s eyes, his heart in pieces, hoping to find his tent, or any tent really, somewhere he could curl up in a ball and just be alone, because the love of his life might be gone.

And because he wasn’t looking where he was going, he ran smack into Iron Bull.

“What,” Dorian managed to get out, realising tears must be rolling down his cheeks but no longer caring.

“Come on, Vint-Boss,” Bull said gently. “Let’s get you somewhere warm. The Chargers have got a fire going and we’ve got most of our supplies. We got a spare bed for you too.”

Oh. Bull was… was being kind. Dorian suddenly felt guilty for ever having thought ill of the man and then the grief was back because he remembered Miraak putting an arm round him that day on the beach, cheerfully apologising to Bull that he couldn’t take him up on the romance offer because he was already seeing someone, and realising Miraak actually cared about him. And then he’d felt all sorts of defences come crashing down and no wonder he’d ended up sobbing all over his apparently very patient amatus. 

Well. Not that patient. Not in general. But he’d always been patient with Dorian. Apparently Dorian was worth waiting for.

Dorian would be lucky to get that sort of love twice in one lifetime and now it was gone.

Following Bull in silence, not even objecting as Bull put an arm round his shoulders, Dorian let himself collapse on to a blanket by the fire, staring at the flames. Yol in Dovahzul. Toor for a really big fire, an out of control one. But yol for fire in general.

_He’s ruined me. Completely fucking ruined me._

Somehow ale found its way into his hand and Dorian downed half of it before sitting there in silence, saying not a word. Krem was on one side of him, Bull the other, neither saying a word to him. They didn’t have to. The only words Dorian wanted to hear were ‘Miraak’s still alive’ and ‘fariiki, I’m here’.

Footsteps on the snow, swishing of robes, and then Vivienne’s voice of all people’s was there to comfort him.

“There you are, darling. I heard what the others were saying. I came to see if you were all right. I see you left before the conversation finished.”

“What’s there to discuss,” Dorian said bitterly. “The love of my life might be dead. I’m dying inside. Nothing for you to worry about.”

Vivienne actually sighed, shaking her head, and Bull looked up at her, arm patting Dorian’s back.

“Ma’am, Dorian’s not in the mood to socialise right now. But thanks, all the same. It’s appreciated.”

“I hardly expect him to jump up and be the life and soul of the party, darling. But I thought he might appreciate hearing the rest of the conversation. You see, after entertaining the possibility of Miraak dying for all of five seconds, Liriel decided she wasn’t going to believe that until she’d seen his corpse, what with Miraak being very good at avoiding death in her experience. And then young Alistair suggested they go look for him.”

They – oh gods, they were going to look for him. Without Dorian. And if Dorian had stuck around for a few seconds longer, he’d have volunteered like a shot.

“Oh gods, where are they, I need to be in the party!” Dorian cried, appalled. “If Miraak’s alive, I need to find him!”

“That way, darling,” Vivienne said sweetly, her job done. “I think they’re arguing over who should go, Leliana wants to send scouts but most have already gone to either hunt or track down our wilderness supplies caches. Alistair’s insisting on going, but Liriel’s firmly telling him he needs to stay with the others, not risk himself. But I’m sure they’d let you go.”

“The Chargers will go,” Bull announced, getting to his feet. “Krem, round everyone up, we’ll need torches. Healing potions too. Boss might be injured. Vint-Boss, get yourself over there. Tell Madame Liriel we’ll go with her. And… I promise not to make any inappropriate remarks this time.”

Dorian would believe that when he saw it, and Vivienne was clearly sceptical too, but she took her leave, and Dorian ran off to where Liriel had finally persuaded Alistair to stay behind. 

“I’ll take any soldiers you can spare, but I will go alone if I have to,” Liriel was saying firmly. “We need to find out if Miraak’s all right, and there must be supplies still there the Inquisition can use. They didn’t burn it all.”

“I agree but we’re stretched thin,” Cullen sighed. “We need to make sure the camp’s safe as well.”

“No need,” Dorian gasped. “The Chargers are coming. Iron Bull’s volunteered his people so the Inquisition can have its own scouts and soldiers guarding us. Or scouting. Or resting. Doesn’t matter. Point is, Bull will help and he’s promised to behave. Also I’m coming. No, don’t try and talk me out of it. I’m useless to anyone here at the moment, and sitting around going insane when I could be doing something to help is… Liriel, please.”

Liriel had been listening to this, odd expression on her face, or maybe Dorian wasn’t very good at reading expressions on triangular faces with tilted eyes, but as he finished, he became aware she’d drawn a lot closer. 

“Of course you can come,” Liriel said gently, placing hands on his upper arms. “Come on. Get your things, and let’s be moving.”

Dorian realised the fight he’d been prepared to have wasn’t happening, and secondly, that Liriel cared. About him. Maybe about Miraak. Definitely about his happiness. It didn’t matter that he and Miraak were both men, not in her eyes. She just wanted Dorian to be happy and for him to see his boyfriend again.

Never in his wildest dreams had Dorian ever imagined that not only would a handsome man fall in love with him and sweep him off his feet, but that someone else would see this happen and be happy for him.

“Liriel! Liriel, I’ve worked out a way, if I pull some of the scouts from the cache retrieval duty they can go with you – just promise me you’ll try and hunt something as well, yes? And there’s probably food and supplies in Haven if you look – I have a list of places we used for storage that might have survived.”

Leliana, looking flushed and excited, and Dorian recalled Leliana had also been quietly supportive. She’d got Miraak that collar, although Dorian wondered if she’d realised just who’d end up wearing it. Or that Miraak seemed to like the thing so damn much. Apparently it helped ground him.

“No need! I’ve found help. The Chargers are coming! And so is Dorian. And The Iron Bull is going to be a perfect gentleman or I shout him off the mountain.”

Liriel smiled sweetly at the newly arrived Qunari who went scarlet, coughed awkwardly and muttered ‘yes ma’am’ under his breath.

“Oh! You don’t need – I see. Yes, the Chargers should be enough. You’ll need the list though. And… Dorian. Are you feeling better?”

Leliana actually looked concerned. Bless her murderous little heart.

“No, but if I’m doing something useful I won’t be able to mope,” Dorian said, feeling a little more like his old self. “We get to Haven, search Haven, find Miraak, hopefully alive, bring him back here and all will be well. I mean, he’s fine, of course.”

“Of course,” Leliana said, knowing little smile on her face. “Go on. Go find him. Bring our Herald back.”

She had an alarming amount of faith in him. But yes, Dorian intended to find Miraak. Alive or dead. Healthy or injured. Dorian was going to find his amatus and bring him back. No matter what.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Dorian had regrets about this. Many, many regrets. What had seemed like a fine idea back by the warmth of the Chargers’ fire had turned out to be a reality of freezing cold, endless trudging through snow and even the beginnings of a blizzard before Liriel irritably shouted into the night and it mysteriously died down.

The Thu’um really could shout a storm away. Dorian could squeal if he wasn’t so tired and cold and really, who came up with mountains anyway?? Ground should be flat. And not covered in snow. And…

Dorian missed Miraak. He truly missed Miraak. A son of the mountains, a man in his element here in Ferelden, who barely seemed to notice the cold, and who had big strong arms to put round Dorian and keep him warm. Who’d found him proper mountain boots and gloves and a cloak early on in their courtship, after seeing how cold Dorian was.

“We are ice and fire, you and I,” Miraak had told him as he’d wrapped the cloak around his shoulders and pinned it into place with a fine silver brooch he’d found on one of his adventures. “Yours shall not go out if I have any say in it.”

Dorian hated pining. He really truly disliked feeling so emotionally dependent on anyone. Too late though. He was thoroughly gotten, and even remembering Miraak on his knees or resting his head in his lap didn’t change the fact Dorian felt lost without him.

Smell of smoke on the wind, the fires of Haven mostly out now but the smell of burnt wood and charred flesh going to linger for some time. At least the Breach was closed. The last thing they needed was demons turning up and deciding to try the corpses on.

“Miraak was supposed to be using the trebuchet, so that’s where you should look first,” Liriel said, pointing to the still intact siege weapon. “Here, Krem. Take the list and start checking these places once you’ve looked at the trebuchet. Dorian and I are going to search for Miraak.”

“You’re not giving the list to Bull?” Krem asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Thought I’d give it to someone organised,” Liriel said, glancing knowingly at Bull, who protested this defamation of character – but Krem just laughed.

“Good choice. Knew there was something I liked about you.”

Liriel grinned as the Chargers left, then turned to Dorian.

“All right, come on. I can cast the spell to find him but it involves blood magic. I know the Chargers aren’t terribly religious but that taboo runs deep. They tell me Tevinter’s different about that sort of thing.”

“They’re not wrong,” Dorian said, shivering and not just from the cold. “I don’t exactly approve myself… but if it finds Miraak, then do it.”

Liriel nodded and produced a steel blade from her sleeve, a thin assassin’s blade that seemed an odd thing for her to be carrying, and she nicked her finger, drawing blood. Magic flared from it and several lines sprang up, most of which all sank through the ground, but one shot towards where Dorian thought the Inquisition was camped, another northwest, and the strongest of all…

Towards Miraak’s cabin.

“He’s that way,” Liriel said, and Dorian suddenly knew what he’d find. Miraak tucked up in bed, heedless of all the worry he’d put his lokaal through, sleeping like a baby. 

_I’m going to kill him. I’m going to absolutely throttle him. How fucking dare he put me through all this and sleep peacefully through it the whole time, the infuriating, provoking, enraging, beautiful, absolutely fuckable son of a…_

Dorian took off, Liriel following him, and the spell was sure enough going straight through the door of the intact cabin.

The door was locked but Dorian rattled it and shouted Miraak’s name, hammering on it and hoping Miraak woke up. If he’d made it this far, and got around to locking the door he was probably fine.

Scuffling inside, a key turning in the lock and Cesaire of all people poked his head out, blinking in the night. His face lit up as he saw them.

“Lehzana – Mistress Liriel! And good sir Dorian! Come in, come in! You came! You came for poor Cic- aire. And for Lord Miraak! Of course you did, of course!”

He ushered them both in, and Dorian noticed Liriel’s gaze falling on the little valet and her own face lighting up in relief.

She’d been worried. About Cesaire. Who’d been here rather than with the camp? Why? Miraak had given no such order, that Dorian knew. But maybe it wasn’t Miraak’s orders he was following.

Cesaire scampered into the bedroom, stoked the fire and cooed to Miraak to wake up, wake up, they had guests! And Miraak sat up, rubbing his eyes, thermal underwear falling open to show off the collarbones and the chest hair and…

Dorian’s anger didn’t fade but it did merge with a few more primal urges, and the urge to claim Miraak was almost all he could think of.

“You!” Dorian cried. “You utter bastard! I have been worried sick about you, and what do I find?? You’re tucked up in bed??”

Miraak blinked in the firelight, looking adorably cute in the just-woken-up haze, and while it wasn’t getting him out of trouble, it did take the edge off a little.

“Dorian?” Miraak said, confused. “You came to find me?”

And then his face lit up, and Miraak was getting up, heedless of Liriel’s shocked gasp, sweeping Dorian into his arms and holding him to his chest, apparently very pleased indeed to see him again.

“You came to find me!” Miraak laughed. “Lokaali! Were you worried? You were worried, I can tell. Unslaad krosis, my love. I’m sorry. I did not wish to brave the mountains by night. Strunmahhe tahrodiis. The mountains are treacherous, and I felt it better to wait until morning and see you later than planned than set out immediately and never arrive. How can I make it up to you, hmm?”

Dorian snuggled into his arms, tears in his eyes, still furious… but Miraak was alive. Miraak was alive and here and radiantly beautiful and that damn seductive voice was managing to melt his resistance without even trying.

“I hate you,” Dorian whispered, arms round Miraak and torn between hating feeling so needy and loving being taken care of. And Miraak rubbed his back, kissed the top of his head and held him, understanding instinctively what his lokaal needed. Dorian hated him for that too, even as he made no effort to resist.

“Briinah. You went to a lot of effort to bring Dorian to me. Thank you.”

“It was no trouble,” Liriel said gently. “We were all concerned. So we came to investigate, and I brought Dorian along. I mean, he is your next of kin after all.”

What? No? No, they’d not discussed that at all, that meant more! That was a commitment! That meant family! That was husband or as good as! Official paramour! Official consort?? Dorian wasn’t ready, he’d not even dared raise the topic with Miraak and…

“Yes, of course he is,” Miraak said, offhanded and casual as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Dorian was literally going to kill him for just saying that out loud… once he’d managed to pull himself together and stop the tears from coming, of course. 

“Thank you,” Miraak continued, still talking to Liriel even as he rubbed Dorian’s back and held him, seeming to know that that had caused an emotional reaction. Maker take this appalling, overbearing, egotistical, damnably attractive man. Except not yet. 

“Plus there were supplies here we could use,” Liriel added. “So… I brought Dorian and the Chargers and came to find out what happened. I mean, Corypheus survived. Surprised you let that happen.”

“Yes,” was all Miraak seemed prepared to say to that, holding a hand back towards the bedside table. “But despite everything, it’s not a victory for him. I stole his focusing orb, look!”

The orb floated over, spinning through the air and hovering at Miraak’s shoulder, Miraak looking very pleased with himself.

“What is that?” Dorian whispered, staring at it in fascination.

“It looks elven,” Liriel said, moving nearer to get a better look. “University of Alinor’s Department of Antiquities has something similar. They’re used to harness and concentrate power – lots of it. And this one’s bound to you now?”

“Indeed,” Miraak purred, triumphant grin not even shifting slightly. “For all his power, Corypheus hadn’t bound it to himself, or not well enough. One Thu’um was enough to claim it. He fled the field once he realised I’d taken this. With this… It’s enough to thwart him, and he will be hamstrung without it. Next time, briinah. Next time, he’s mine.”

“That’s why you only needed one word,” Liriel whispered. “You just needed Gol for this.”

“I did,” Miraak confirmed, sending the orb back to rest by the bed. “Niid faas, Liriel, I don’t plan to enslave all Thedas. We end Corypheus. And then… then I need to think. Who knows what the world will look like by then. We will need to rebuild, that I know.”

Liriel nodded, not saying a word but not arguing either, simply preparing to take her leave. And then Miraak stopped her.

“Wait. Briinah. Before you go. I have something of yours to return.”

“Oh? What?” Liriel asked, surprised. Miraak let go of Dorian and walked over to where Cesaire had been tending the fire, but was now poking at the orb. Miraak reached down, grabbed the back of his shirt and picked him up, wordlessly carried him over and dropped him at Liriel’s feet.

“One of your agents, I presume,” Miraak said, a little pointedly. “Be thankful we reached an accord and are no longer hokoronne. As it is… it has taken me an embarrassingly long time to realise he was one of yours, but he is, isn’t he.”

Liriel closed her eyes, inhaling sharply through her teeth and then nodded.

“How did you know,” Liriel said wearily, helping Cesaire up and then putting a protective arm round him.

“I can believe that you owned Auriel’s Bow, but not that you’d bring it with you when you barely use bows, still less that the pack you left with him just happened to have a set of perfectly fitting armour in there,” Miraak said, shaking his head. “I suspected he wasn’t all he seemed. I should have suspected he was one of yours. No matter. He did serve me well while he was here. What’s his real name?”

“Cicero,” Cicero whispered, looking rather nervous as he huddled next to Liriel. “I’m not Orlesian. I’m from Cyrodiil.”

Cyrodiil. A long way from Solstheim and few of the Heartland’s children had ever made it to Miraak’s court. No wonder he’d not noticed the accent. A surprise no one else had, but apparently the translation spirit in Cicero’s head had relayed a decent version of an Orlesian accent to his Thedosian.

Miraak had seen Saering’s face and overlooked much, it seemed. 

“You’re a…” Dorian burst out laughing, apparently finding the whole situation hilarious. “Oh that’s marvellous! Liriel had a spy here the whole time?? Hah! That’s how you knew when we were going to the Hinterlands and got there ahead of us! And… he locked us in here after… well… were those your orders too?”

“No, that was his idea,” Liriel said, hugging him affectionately. “Apparently he wanted to see what would happen if you had no choice but to talk things over.”

Cicero cackled, delighted. “I did, I did! And it worked! Cicero wanted to know if Dorian was the reason why Miraak was suddenly not as evil. It turns out yes… and no. It isn’t just Dorian. It is everyone. Miraak was all alone in the Fade, but now he has friends again! Friends that aren’t tentacled horrors. Friends who spar with him and challenge him and let him indulge his Nordic tendencies to drink too much, and make him laugh and entertain him. People whose opinions he cares about! And… he’s not as scary any more. Not quite as ruthless. More merciful.”

Cicero sighed heavily, suddenly glaring at Dorian.

“You have taken a perfectly good terrifying overlord and ruined him. Look at him. He’s being affectionate!”

Miraak just chuckled, kissing Dorian’s forehead again and cuddling his beloved boyfriend.

“Yes and he hates it,” Miraak said fondly. Dorian felt like he should probably tell Miraak off, but somehow he felt rather proud. He’d accidentally ruined an evil villain. That was quite the achievement, wasn’t it?

“Come on, Cicero, shall we leave these two to it and find somewhere to sleep?” Liriel said, smiling down at him. “I think the Chantry’s intact. Miraak, I’m sorry. I truly am. But the reports I was getting were so confusing, I felt I needed eyes on the ground. So I sent my most trusted agent to investigate. I can take him back with me. I’ve got what I need anyway.”

“Oh,” Dorian said, feeling rather sorry to see him go and missing the hot shaves. They really were something else. Cicero did good foot massages as well. Not to mention the back massage with the hot rocks that Miraak had recognised as an old Atmoran technique. Apparently that might not be a coincidence after all. “Miraak, are you sure he can’t stay.”

“He’s going with Liriel,” Miraak said pointedly. Then he looked at Cicero and relented. “But… when we find a new base and are more settled, he might stay if he wants. Under his real name this time.”

Liriel glanced at Cicero, who’d perked up on hearing this and looked up at Liriel as if asking permission. Liriel patted his head and smiled.

“We’ll think about it,” Liriel promised. “Come on, Cicero. Let’s leave them to it. We can let Bull and the others know we found Miraak alive. Gathering the supplies is something that can wait until morning, I think.”

So Cicero got dressed, packed up his things, packed up the folding bed, said his goodbyes and left with Liriel. Leaving Dorian and Miraak alone.

Miraak turned Dorian to face him, stroking his hair.

“You look cold, amatus,” Miraak murmured. “Shall we go to bed?”

Not yet. Dorian wasn’t done being angry with him yet.

“I thought you’d died!” Dorian cried. “We saw Corypheus leave and no trebuchet strike and we only heard one Thu’um not three and… and I thought you were gone.”

Sharp inhale from Miraak, who wrapped his arms round Dorian and pulled him to him. 

“I’m so sorry,” Miraak murmured, cradling Dorian in his arms. “I’m here, amatus. I’m here now. I’ve got you. It’s all right. It’s all right.”

“How dare you,” Dorian whispered. “How dare you do this to me. You keep making me cry! And I had to come face to face with the prospect of losing you and… and it broke my heart. What have you done to me.”

“All I’ve done is love you, Dorian,” Miraak said quietly, leading him over to bed. “It is not my fault you’ve been so starved of it.”

“You spent four thousand years on your own in the Fade,” Dorian whispered. “Why do you just give affection so freely.”

“Because Moni gave it to me first,” Miraak murmured. “It took years to learn magic, years to learn the Thu’um, years to find out I had the blood of the Dov. But I always knew I was loved and special, because my mother loved me first. From what you’ve told me, you did not have the same.”

Hard to deny that one, and laugh it off and make light of it as Dorian often did, he couldn’t deny it hurt. And Miraak kept poking the wound, usually unintentionally.

“Come on, come to bed,” Miraak whispered. “Get comfortable. Get warm. And if you want to… you know I’m yours for the asking.”

Dorian knew. Dorian had few defences left after tonight. He felt like he’d been shattered into tiny little pieces and was only just beginning to reassemble himself. Worse, he felt Miraak was doing the reassembling, and he wasn’t sure about what he was being reassembled into. But he’d lost all ability to stop it now. 

Miraak was stripping Dorian’s clothes off, shedding his own, because with a lover alongside you, you could sleep naked. And then Dorian was being lain down on Miraak’s sheets, already smelling of his lover, and Miraak’s lips met his, Miraak parting Dorian’s legs to lie down on top of him, six foot five inches of solid muscle pressing him into the mattress, and Dorian felt himself go hard, all nerves on fire as he reached for Miraak, lips meeting his.

“What do you want,” Miraak gasped. “Name it. It’s yours.”

Dorian truly didn’t feel very dominant tonight. But he could set a few boundaries.

“You’re not collared,” Dorian whispered. Miraak paused, grinned and summoned the toy box from under the bed, retrieving the lube bottle and collar both. With a little help from Dorian, it was soon nestling comfortably round Miraak’s neck, and then they were kissing again, and something about seeing Miraak in it helped settle Dorian considerably.

This was his amatus, his love, his exotic Dragonborn pet. What was he worried about?

“Suck me off and take all of it,” Dorian whispered to him. “You make me come and swallow it down like the thirsty little slut we both know you are, and if you’re good at it, perhaps I’ll let you fuck me.”

Silence from Miraak and then a sly grin as he moved downward, leaving kisses on Dorian’s chest as he did so.

“You know I am,” Miraak murmured, stroking Dorian and lowering his mouth to do as asked. Dorian slid fingers through Miraak’s hair to bring him closer, closing his eyes and deciding not to think too hard about all this after all. Don’t think about how emotionally dependent he’d become on Miraak. Don’t think about how Miraak might submit in bed but had the power to utterly destroy Dorian emotionally. Definitely don’t think about how Miraak clearly saw him as a husband in all but name and how that made him feel. Definitely don’t think about how much he’d longed for a steady romantic relationship that had a future and that he didn’t have to hide, and how the most powerful man in Thedas was just offering that to him freely.

So Dorian didn’t think about it and Dorian yielded to Miraak’s ministrations, all set to come in his beloved’s arms. And if Dorian’s sense of himself as an outcast and pariah, alone in the world and destined to stay that way, died tonight, it would take a while longer for Dorian to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cicero had to get unmasked at some point and now seemed as good a time as any. You've not seen the last of him, but he'll be appearing as himself this time.
> 
> Next chapter it's all back to the camp, and discussions need to be had on where they all go from here, literally, as the Inquisition needs a base and allies, and a certain someone is not pleased about Miraak stealing the orb. He's really fond of that orb!
> 
> Daar lein los di - this world is mine!


	16. The Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, and while Haven's in ruins, the Inquisition lives on and with their Herald returning in triumph with stolen power to boot, it seems almost like a victory... unless you're a certain elf, of course. Meanwhile, Alistair had another reason for seeking out Miraak, and it soon become apparent that reason's tied into the Inquisition's greater struggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one rounds off In Your Heart Shall Burn as Miraak rejoins his Inquisition, to be welcomed back by everyone (apart from Solas, hem hem). He doesn't quite get the whole Dawn Will Come moment, but that's what happens when you don't destroy Haven after all, get to sleep in a nice, warm cabin and saunter up the next day instead of staggering through the night and passing out in Cullen's arms.
> 
> There's also the setting up of Miraak as Inquisitor, mainly down to him being the only one who can corral the Council. Also a bit of a lead in to Last Resort of Good Men, and set up for Here Lies the Abyss, which will be happening before Wicked Eyes in this one. I mean, I saved him having to do Crestwood and Alistair's right here to brief him so why not. Also means I don't need to write the Varric-Cassandra fight as he now doesn't need to reveal he knew how to contact Hawke. Varric's fine with that!
> 
> And the last scene has smut - not detailed but it's there. A few paragraphs then on to Dorian and Miraak talking. You'll know the scene, Miraak will have dragged Dorian off to their tent at the end of the last one, and he's not subtle about why.

Morning brought Miraak and Dorian being woken by Krem knocking on the door and telling them if they didn’t want to have to walk back to camp on their own, they’d need to get up, and reluctantly they both obeyed. Breakfast wasn’t going to bring itself to them today, after all.

“You couldn’t have made Josephine put room service into the Chargers’ contract, could you,” Dorian sighed as he got dressed.

“Perhaps sacking Cicero could have waited until we arrived back at the camp,” Miraak admitted, regretting the decision… but it was done now, and honestly best to get it over with.

So they got dressed and packed everything, knowing that while people would be back to retrieve much of what was here, Haven was being abandoned and they’d never see this place again. Miraak would miss it. It had been home after a long exile. Technically he was still exiled, but Haven hadn’t felt like it. It had felt like Solstheim. Like his home village. The cabin had reminded him of the one he’d been born in. It had been a place of sanctuary, and not just for him either – he’d been able to provide that for Dorian too.

Breakfast with the Chargers, who by now had been told who Cicero really was, and Miraak emerged to find Bull telling him off.

“Cesaire’s not even your real fucking name?” Bull cried. Cicero shook his head, cheeks ever so slightly pink.

“No. Sorry, Iron Bull. But Cicero did enjoy our time together!”

Miraak just bet he had.

“Good morning, briinah. Good morning, enemy spy,” Miraak said cheerfully, patting Cicero on the back, who had the decency to flush scarlet and start spluttering.

“You said we were no longer enemies!” Cicero cried.

“I did,” Miraak said, sitting down, Dorian arriving behind him. “Which is why you are not dead. I do however dislike being lied to.”

“Sorry,” Cicero whispered again, before sighing heavily. “Ugh, this is why I am not good at spying! Normally I stab the target and flee, I don’t have breakfast with them after being exposed!”

“Sorry, Cicero,” Liriel said, patting his arm. “Next person I send you after, you can stab, promise.”

Cicero brightened up after that, and once more Miraak had to thank Akatosh for a fortunate escape. He’d held a razor to Miraak’s throat! A professional assassin from the sounds of it, right in Miraak’s quarters, with the access to kill him any time he felt like it. Far too close a call for Miraak’s liking. But Cicero was behaving, Liriel was supervising him and Miraak at least knew who and what he was now. And could stop worrying about his valet coming to harm, because it was rapidly becoming obvious that Cicero usually was the harm.

After breakfast, it was time to gather up what they could carry, principally food, drink, alchemical supplies, medicine, and then off up the mountain trail. It took not nearly as long in the day time, and Miraak marvelled to see a well-organised camp already.

Heads turned. Everyone saw the mask. Silence fell over the entire camp. And then someone cried out “it’s the Herald!”

“The Herald!” a few others cried, and then someone started clapping, then another, and suddenly the camp rose to its feet as it began to applaud, the entire Inquisition chanting his name as Miraak moved forward, swarmed by his soldiers all wanting to shake his hand, all tearfully telling him they knew he’d make it, they knew it’d take more than some darkspawn with a dragon to bring Lord Miraak down.

“Squid-Face!” one elven voice called from where she was perched on top of a tent. “You’re late!”

“Krosis, Sera,” Miraak called back, amused. “I was unavoidably detained.”

Sera cackled and slipped away, and then Alistair was there, making his way through the crowd.

“You! You utter, utter bastard.”

Nervous tension among the crowd and Miraak just sighed.

“What did I do this time, Alistair.”

“You left me to deal with that lot!” Alistair cried, gesturing at the council, who were gathered round the table, all looking rather awkward. “They’ve barely stopped arguing except to eat and sleep. Josephine keeps going on about needing to rebuild but doesn’t have any ideas for what with, Cullen won’t listen to a bloody word I say and keeps arguing with Josephine, Cassandra keeps shouting at everyone but doesn’t have any useful ideas, and Leli’s solutions all seem to involve blackmail and stabbing someone. How the hell have you not killed any of them yet?? I’m going insane after one night of this!”

Ah yes. The bickering council. Clearly Alistair did not have Miraak’s gift for stopping things getting that far in the first place.

“Krosis, zeymahi. My apologies. I’m here now,” Miraak apologies, feeling slightly bad for the poor man. “Go and get some sleep. I will take over from here.”

The Chargers had peeled off to take the supplies to the Inquisition quartermaster, and Miraak told Dorian to take their things and get some rest. But Liriel he beckoned with him. The woman was a skilled spymaster, a scholar and the wife of a king. She might have some useful input.

“Herald, you’re back!” Cullen gasped. “We thought…”

“Some of us thought,” Leliana said pointedly. “I refused to believe you were dead without proof.”

“It is good to have you back, my lord,” Josephine said, inclining her head. “The Inquisition needs you.”

Of course it did. Nothing got done without him. Miraak took the mask off and let it fall on the table, rather liking the sound of the metal clanging against wood.

“How are things?” Miraak asked. “We brought more supplies from Haven but couldn’t carry it all. Leliana, Cullen, you will need to send people back for the rest.”

“I’ll see it done,” Leliana promised. “We have also unearthed a few of our caches and with Haven unburied, we have a choice of routes. Back to Ferelden or we take the pass over the Frostbacks to Orlais.”

“We can’t travel the pass in winter, we’ve no idea if it’s even open,” Cullen sighed. “It’ll be over a week before we reach shelter and we’ve got wounded! We’ll lose people. We’ll lose people anyway but we’ll lose far more trying to get to Orlais than Ferelden.”

“And what of when we get there,” Josephine said, tersely. “Queen Anora has already made it clear that she cares little for the Inquisition and there are few banns or arls that will go against her will to aid us. We cannot make for Ferelden only to starve once there. In Orlais, I have contacts. Allies and potential allies. And thanks to the civil war, Empress Celene has greater concerns than us. Someone must have a summer villa, a spare residence they’re not using. Most of the nobles had to flee the Dales to avoid violence. If we find one, we can settle there and compensate the family for their trouble. Better us taking care of their home than bandits or worse finding it.”

“Compensate them?? What with, the coin we don’t have?” Cullen demanded. Miraak began to see why Alistair was losing patience.

“Are they always like this?” Liriel asked, raising an eyebrow and Miraak had to admit the answer was yes.

“Tempers are usually a little longer, but yes, this is typical,” Miraak sighed.

“And you haven’t used Bend Will on any of them?” Liriel asked, surprised. Miraak was actually slightly hurt by that. Even if he did frequently dream of doing it and enjoying the resulting peace and quiet.

“So far it has not been necessary,” Miraak said, eyeing all of them in turn and feeling gratified to see them all pipe down. “Inquisition. We will rebuild. We had precious little in the days after the Conclave. We recovered. We will do so again. For now we need to rest. Give me time to think and I can give you a decision. I’m leaning towards Orlais, but I know it will cost us in lives. I will need to speak to Mother Giselle, let her know. They are Andrastians. She will know what to say to make them believe the sacrifice is worth it.”

Silence from the others but nodding agreement, and then Liriel spoke.

“You could do both. Send those least likely to survive to Ferelden, while the strong and healthy go to Orlais.”

“Split our forces? Miraak, you can’t agree with that!” Cullen protested.

“That won’t solve the problem of no Fereldan noble wanting to help us,” Josephine added. Leliana however was looking thoughtful.

“Why go to a noble? If it’s mostly the old, families or sick, the Chantry might help,” Leliana said, thinking this over. “I have a few contacts you could approach.”

“Actually, I had a noble in mind,” Liriel said, smiling. “The Bann of Caer Bronach can help. He’s got a keep in Crestwood, and experience in organising camps. He’ll help you.”

“The Bann of Caer Bronach?” Josephine asked, confused. “But that seat has been vacant since the Blight. The family fled and never returned to the village. The keep’s been abandoned ever since. I had not heard Queen Anora had appointed a successor.”

Awkward silence and Miraak could guess who this bann was.

“Would this be your husband, by any chance?” Miraak said, glancing at Liriel, who looked a little embarrassed but confirmed it was so.

“He’ll help, I promise,” Liriel said firmly. “If I go with you. And he’s got resources enough to take care of people and feed them, for a time at least. And he’s fine with mages too. Also… look, we’re not supposed to be there. And the keep’s on a main road. There’s travellers now. It’s only a matter of time before word gets back to Denerim, and then we’ll have the Fereldan army on our doorstep. We don’t want a fight! This was supposed to be a manhunt, not an invasion. But… if Caer Bronach becomes an official Inquisition outpost, no one will even question it.”

Miraak did like the idea of a proper keep. Even if having to deal with Danach – no, Madanach – was likely to be an unending source of irritation.

“Fine. Cullen, start organising those who are going to Ferelden. They leave in the morning. The rest of us are going to Orlais. Josephine, we’re going to need a list of nobles to approach. Or estates near the mountains that are reasonably defensible and likely to be vacant. We cannot risk our new base ending up like Haven.”

“If I may, I would like to send agents to Crestwood,” Leliana added. “It’s on the main road between Val Royeaux and Denerim. All the couriers use that road. If we provide an Inquisition outpost to act as hospitality for travellers, some of those couriers might share their information in return.”

Miraak wouldn’t have thought of that, but it was a good idea, so he agreed.

“I hope your husband lives up to your promises,” Miraak said, warning note in his voice. “I’m trusting you with my people, Liriel.”

“I’ll make sure he takes care of them,” Liriel promised. “Don’t worry. He’ll listen to me.”

Miraak hoped so, but if Madanach was concerned about the Fereldans coming to evict him, some stamp of officialdom might be just what he needed. So he gave assent and Liriel went off to write a letter to send ahead to her husband and then find the infirmary and see what she could do for the sick.

“Was there anything else, Herald?” Cullen asked, seeing Miraak still there, and then Cassandra, who’d been quiet so far, spoke.

“I want to know what happened in Haven. We saw Corypheus flee, and assumed the worst… but you live? How is it you let him go?”

“I got the better of him and he fled,” Miraak said, grinning as he reached for the pouch that was storing his new orb. “He was carrying some sort of power source with him, a focusing orb according to Liriel.”

“How would she know what it is,” Cassandra said, eyes narrowing. Miraak felt his patience starting to ebb just a little.

“Her own people have similar artefacts in their university, she’s likely studied those at some point,” Miraak said tersely. “Cassandra, she is a highly educated scholar-mage. If she did not have some knowledge or even an educated guess as to what it was, I would think less of her.”

“They let elves go to university and study where she comes from?” Leliana asked, surprised.

“Yes, of course they do, why wouldn’t they- never mind,” Miraak sighed. “The point is, this was Corypheus’s. And now it is mine. I stole his orb, and he fled the field. I don’t know what Corypheus planned to do with it… but we will reshape the world, Inquisition. That I promise.”

Miraak placed the orb on the table and gave it a little spin, stepping back as it rose into the air, hovering before them, spinning on its axis as Miraak looked on proudly. Strangely, they didn’t look as impressed as he’d expected. Nervous if anything.

“That belonged to Corypheus?” Josephine whispered.

“He had it with him,” Miraak confirmed. “Where he acquired it, who knows. But it is under my control now.”

“Do you even know what it does?” Cullen said, sounding sceptical. Miraak just smiled.

“It is used to concentrate and amplify magical power. Possibly a great deal of magical power. I can do much with it,” Miraak promised. “But not, alas, get us a base. Not yet.”

He stopped the orb and packed it away. He had it and Corypheus didn’t. That was the important thing, and he told them this, before reminding them that getting the Inquisition to a new home was their priority, overriding everything else, and dismissing them all to get on with their jobs.

To his surprise, no one argued, merely saying ‘yes Herald’ and leaving to organise things. A bit of a respect, it seemed. Good. It was about time. Fixing his mask to his belt, Miraak went off to see how Dorian was doing. Maybe they’d set up a tent for him. He hoped so. It meant he and Dorian could move in to it and spend the afternoon there. Miraak liked the idea already. Too bad Solas had other ideas.

“Miraak. Welcome back. I suspected you’d not perished. You strike me as one of life’s survivors.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. By Miraak’s count, this was the third time he’d cheated death, although frankly he’d never really been in mortal peril this time. Vahlok’s forces had been stronger, and Liriel was a relentless force of nature even without the Thu’um. With Corypheus, Miraak got the feeling he wasn’t used to dealing with a true equal. Miraak would make sure he paid for that hubris.

“Indeed I am. You saw me brought out of the Fade itself, Solas. Are you surprised he couldn’t kill me?”

“If what he says is true, and I’ve no reason to disbelieve it, he was one of the magisters that caused the Blights,” Solas said, leading Miraak away from the camp to overlook Haven. From up here, in the daylight, the true scale of the damage was apparent. The fires were out but other than the Chantry there was barely a building left standing, and charred wood everywhere.

All right, maybe last night was in the nature of a draw.

“That makes him both powerful and dangerous, and he may not have killed you, but he destroyed Haven trying,” Solas continued. “You cannot underestimate him.”

“I don’t intend to,” Miraak said grimly. “We will find a new home and regroup. We will be prepared next time.”

“I hope so,” Solas said, glancing at him. “We will not withstand another assault like that one as things stand. We should be grateful Corypheus will need time to regroup as well. Tell me. The word is that he fled because you took something from him. You took his orb? May I see it?”

Flash of something almost like hunger in Solas’s eyes, but Miraak got the orb out anyway. It was bound to him by the power of the Thu’um. Little else would break that bond now.

Solas watched it spinning in the air before him, reaching out to touch it, that odd hungry look in his eyes… and then his fingertips grazed it, lightning shot out and Solas withdrew, yelping.

“What did you do?” Solas cried. “It’s not meant to do that!”

Solas sounded oddly certain about its intended purpose for an elven apostate who’d spent his life travelling the backwoods of Thedas. Miraak narrowed his eyes and retrieved the orb.

“I used my Thu’um to harness its power. It answers to me now,” Miraak said firmly. “My first command was to repel anyone trying to take its power for their own. Perhaps you should be grateful it decided a warning was sufficient.”

Solas was shaking his hand, channelling healing magic into it.

“It answers to you now?” Solas gasped, seeming to be struggling with this concept. “That should not be possible!”

“Oh? Should it not? You seem to know an alarming amount about it seeing as you only saw it briefly last night while Corypheus was invading,” Miraak said, and with his mask off, Solas couldn’t miss the warning signs and the suspicion in his eyes.

“It is elven,” Solas admitted. “I’ve seen them in the Fade, old memories of ancient times, they were used as foci for magical power. One like that should always answer to its creator, or the one who first bound it. Another might use its power, but they can’t bind it to their use. You’ve wiped it clean entirely, as if it never belonged to anyone else! And now you truly are its master.”

Defeat in his face, even as his tone sounded impressed. Odd. Very odd. Solas obviously wasn’t the orb’s original owner, that was impossible. He’d need to have spent millennia in the Fade like Miraak had for that to be the case. But it was possible he mourned an ancient heirloom of his people now irrevocably bound to a human.

When he put it like that, Miraak felt a little guilty himself. Not that he regretted this, of course. It had to be done. But, well… perhaps he owed the elves in return. Perhaps he’d find some way to repay them in time. He could make sure the Inquisition’s elven personnel were treated fairly anyway.

“Better me than Corypheus,” Miraak said, putting the orb away and folding his arms. “Hard to believe, but it is true.”

“It likely is,” Solas sighed wearily. “Well. It is done now. We survived and the fight goes on. At least if you are seen using the orb’s power for heroic deeds, the fact it is a relic of my people might help them rather than harm them. As it is, we must deal with Corypheus, and quickly. He has lost his orb but he will have other resources. We need a new home. There is talk of splitting our forces? Some are going to Ferelden while the main force heads for Orlais?”

Miraak confirmed that was true.

“You’ll be with the Orlesian contingent, as will I,” Miraak told him. “Liriel is taking the old, the sick, the weak, the children to her husband’s keep. We fear they might not survive the journey otherwise. As for us, we seek a new home in Orlais. Josephine has contacts who might help.”

“I’m sure she does, but it is not a good idea to rely on patrons for your very home,” Solas said thoughtfully. “I may know of a place. I’ve visited it before now. It is steeped in magic and the Fade, and despite being old and abandoned, the walls are intact. So is most of the keep. It is defensible, and it is claimed by no prior owner, and it is nearer than the Dales. Safer too, with the war raging there. Make that the Inquisition stronghold, Miraak. Rebuild and refit it, and it could make a good home for you.”

Miraak didn’t exactly trust any offer Solas was making… but a keep of his own did sound more useful than begging for charity off nobles.

“Where is it,” Miraak asked. “What is it.”

“It lies north of here, an abandoned castle high in the Frostbacks,” Solas told him. “Remote, but there are roads leading to Orlais and Ferelden. You could get people there to supply you. It could serve. And if on arrival, you feel otherwise, you may resume your original plan and continue to Orlais. It is up to you.”

Miraak would reserve judgement until he saw the place but it was a plan worth pursuing, for now at least. It might make a good waystation if nothing else.

“Does this place have a name?” he asked, intending to find out if his advisors had ever heard of it.

“It’s had many,” Solas told him. “The ancient elves called it Tarasyl'an te'las – the place where the sky was held back. An auspicious name, given we are fighting one who wishes to assault the Black City itself. But your kind? Humans have called it Skyhold.”

Skyhold. A good name. Almost Atmoran. Were they not Children of the Sky, children of Kyne? And now here was one of Kyne’s children, here to protect and heal her domain and keep it from the hands of the one who’d defile it. A holding blessed by Kyne. Yes. Miraak liked the sound of it already.

“Skyhold,” Miraak repeated, liking the way it felt on his lips. “Very well. We’ll go there and investigate. If it proves a worthy strunmah, we’ll make it our own.”

Leaving to update his advisors, Miraak didn’t see magic flare in Solas’s eyes as his back turned, power at his fingertips, rage and grief as Solas wrestled with the temptation to end Miraak with his back turned and claim that orb back. But no. Miraak was no easy kill, and with Liriel not far away, too easy to avenge. Also Solas’s own sense of honour felt uneasy at attacking him from behind.

It was a loss, a grave loss, Solas’s stored power gone in the explosion that caused the Breach, and with the orb now Miraak’s, no way of ever reclaiming it. He’d need to find another way somehow. He’d need to think.

He’d need both time and resources. Which meant his best bet was keeping a low profile and remaining with the Inquisition. With someone like Miraak to drive things, resources and lore would surely be available before long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alistair meanwhile had been intending to go and have a nap, he really had. He knew where his tent was, he was sharing accommodation with one Warden Blackwall. Who Alistair had heard of but never got around to meeting, what with spending most of his career in Ferelden while Warden Blackwall had been based out of Orlais. Blackwall had a good reputation but Alistair had heard very little in recent years, in fact there’d been rumours he’d disappeared. Gone on his Calling, maybe.

That he was alive was a good thing and helping the Inquisition more so. Alistair had only met him briefly but he seemed a good man. He’d also heard of Alistair and shaken him by the hand, thanking him for his service during the Blight.

“Oh, I never got near the Archdemon in the end, Lyra had me defending Denerim’s citizens,” Alistair had said, feeling a little awkward at all the attention.

“That is as important as bringing the Archdemon down,” Blackwall had told him. “You stood and you fought and you saved lives. That is what it means to be a Warden, lad. You’re a hero and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

And now Alistair wasn’t a Warden anymore. No Taint. No Calling. Not presently serving anyway due to… reasons. And if he was honest, really truly honest?

He wasn’t sure he wanted to go back. But what did you do with your life after being a Grey Warden?

He nearly walked into someone coming out of the infirmary, stopped to apologise and then realised it was the Grand Enchanter herself.

The one woman who might be able to help.

“Hello!” Alistair gasped, beaming. “Grand Enchanter Fiona! Just the woman! I was looking for you!”

He hadn’t been, not really, but she was who he’d wanted to talk to so why not take advantage.

“Me?” Fiona gasped, going pale. “Why were you seeking me out?”

She looked nervous about something. Goodness, he was making her nervous wasn’t he. Twice her height, some clumsy shem looming over her – he stepped back at once.

“Sorry,” he said, feeling a little guilty. “But… you used to be a Warden, didn’t you? And then you left. I… had questions. You see, Miraak Shouted the Taint out of me. And now I’m not a Warden any more. I was on the run anyway and now I don’t even have the Taint. And I’m not sure what to do now. I mean, stay with the Inquisition obviously, but after? The rest of my life after? Do I go back? Get rejoined? I don’t know! I literally never saw this coming, I thought I’d die a Warden! And… now I won’t. I… you had the same happen to you, didn’t you? How did you manage?”

“I am a mage, child,” Fiona said, some deep sadness in her eyes. “Outside the Wardens, there was only one place I could go. Back to the Circle. And I ended up fighting for the right of mages to have the choice I did not. But… it was unexpected. It was a wrench. I sacrificed much, and yet there was joy too, such joy… but it did not last. The loss of the Taint allowed me to become pregnant and carry the child to term, but the Circle ensured I could never raise him. I gave the boy to his father. I hope he had a good life. He certainly seems a good man.”

Poor thing. To have a child, clearly a loved and wanted child from the sound of it and to have to give him up. Alistair couldn’t imagine it. Well, he couldn’t imagine parenthood full stop. He’d never had the chance. 

A little voice whispered in the back of his head that perhaps he could have that now, if he wanted. After all, Miraak had done it without his consent. Miraak owed him. Repeating the favour with Alistair’s Warden wife… yes, Alistair could work with that. Perhaps. He’d need to think about it, and frankly getting reunited with his wife took priority over their potential children. But it was a possibility that wouldn’t go away.

“You know who your son is?” Alistair asked, surprised because there was no one in the mage rebellion calling Fiona mother as far as he knew. “Did you track him down?”

“I know who he is,” Fiona said quietly, not meeting his eyes. “I know he was doing work that fulfilled him. And that he is a kindhearted man of honour. He does not know I am his mother. I would prefer to keep it that way. His father was human, you see. He believes himself fully human, no doubt. It will do him no favours to tell him otherwise. No, Alistair, it is better this way. But you didn’t come to hear the troubles of an old elf. You wanted a shoulder to lean on, no? Come on, cheri. Join me by the fire.”

They settled by the fire outside Fiona’s tent, and Fiona poured him wine. Of all things, they’d salvaged the booze. Well. It’d cheer people up. Morale was important, right?

“So. The Wardens are your life, but now you’re not one and you don’t know what to do, hmm?” Fiona asked. “Your father is dead. Your mother – what did they tell you about your mother?”

“They said she was a servant at Redcliffe, but she died giving birth to me,” Alistair said, staring into the fire. “I don’t even know what she looked like. I wish I did. But they don’t make portraits of servants. You know, I think she might have been elven, you know. The way no one will tell me anything. And Lyra and Zevran always said I looked elfy. It never bothered me. I felt proud if anything. And really sad she suffered and died because of me. I don’t even know if it was consensual.”

Fiona actually flinched.

“King Maric was no rapist,” Fiona said softly. “Whatever else you think of him, know that. I met him, you know. He even came on a Deep Roads adventure with us, much against his advisors’ will. He was a good man, Alistair.”

“He abandoned me to his retainers and ignored me my entire childhood,” Alistair said bitterly. “If I’d been happy, I might not have minded but I wasn’t. I spent most of my time around the stables and kennels helping with the horses and the dogs because they weren’t judging me. And then the Arlessa got me sent to a bloody Chantry monastery because she was jealous of me. A few years of that and I was more than happy to join the Wardens. Best decision I ever made. For the first time in my life, I was actually happy. Helped save the world. Met my best mate. Met my wife. And now it’s gone.”

“Met your – you’re _married??_ ” Fiona gasped. “When – I never heard of Warden Alistair from the Blight getting married!”

“Why would you, we kept it quiet,” Alistair said, starting to wonder where this was going. Why was the Grand Enchanter caring so much about his personal life? It wasn’t that interesting. Lots of people got married after all. “She’s a Warden too. She didn’t want to be but she was dying of the Blight and her sister managed to find some Wardens to give her the Joining. When I first met her, she was so angry and hostile about everything. Sad that she’d never see her family again, unhappy about having the choice taken away. I didn’t really understand it at the time. I guess I do now. But she was also gorgeous and I felt sorry for her. She seemed so lonely. So I befriended her. Took her along with my lot. She was a mage and a bloody good one too. Fereldan, like me. Fighting with her was like having an extra sword. After about six months, I realised she actually seemed happy about the Wardens now. And after a year, she was the one to tell me I was an idiot and kiss me. We got married a few years back. Now here I am, an outcast and she’s all on her own. I hope she’s all right. Because the Wardens really aren’t, and… Liriel seems to think Miraak can help. I hope so. Because Bethany might be in danger, and I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

Fiona’s hand on his, which was really weird because he’d only just met her.

“We’ll find her,” Fiona said softly. “We’ll find out whatever is going on with the Wardens, and if Miraak won’t help, I’ll go with you myself.”

“Grand Enchanter, you don’t have to-” Alistair began, suddenly aware he was blushing, and wondering where the hell this conversation was going because it had taken a very odd turn.

“Yes I do,” Fiona said fiercely. “Consider it a debt to your father. Maybe you weren’t close… but he and I were friends once. Yes, Alistair, I will help you find your wife.”

“Thanks,” Alistair whispered, not having expected this at all, but pleased nonetheless. He’d expected to have to argue his case. Having Fiona at his back meant he might just be all right. “Will you be there when I ask Miraak for help? In case he says no.”

“If he says no, he will risk losing all his mages,” Fiona said firmly. “Yes, Alistair, of course I’ll go with you.”

Alistair beamed back, suddenly feeling a lot less helpless and worried than he had earlier, and was feeling too happy to notice that Fiona had gone rather pink herself. He’d made friends with the Grand Enchanter! She liked him and was willing to help! He’d need to find a way to pay her back. Maybe track down her son? No, no, she knew who and where he was, she just wasn’t getting in contact. It was sad… but it was her choice. All the same, if Alistair had been the son, he’d want to know. Maybe he’d persuade her one day.

But for now, it was enough to know she’d help him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A word with Leliana, who turned out to have heard of Skyhold fortress but never been there, and the plan was set. The Orlesian party would head for Skyhold first and see about setting up a base camp there. If it suited for a more permanent base, it would be easier for Josephine to solicit funds for the construction work than go begging for a new home.

That done, and Miraak went to find Dorian. Did they have a tent yet? Of course they must, Josephine and Cullen between them would have made sure someone sorted the Herald’s tent out. That was if Dorian walking up to one of Cullen’s soldiers and politely asking for directions to it hadn’t immediately prompted finding one without needing to bother Cullen.

Good, because Miraak, after dealing with all this, wanted a rest in said tent, or rather he specifically wanted a rest with Dorian alongside him and perhaps Dorian could top this time. So. Where was Dorian. Where was the beautiful man who’d agreed to share his life and his bed?

He didn’t know but someone was calling for him and it wasn’t Dorian. They were a she, for a start, an Orlesian she, and calling him Lord Herald, not Miraak.

Mother Giselle. Now what could she want.

“Mother,” Miraak greeted her cautiously. “Can I help?”

“No my lord, I merely wished to talk to you,” Giselle said, inclining her head. “As for your aid, it is not required right now. You have done more than enough for us last night.”

Miraak glanced out at the hastily organised camp, remembering the ruins of Haven, and thinking quietly that if he’d not been the Herald but a hapless bystander, he might not be feeling so optimistic.

“We lost people last night, Mother. We lost our home. Some might say I was the one to bring trouble on us. I don’t. But there are those who might.”

“Maybe, but they are not saying it to me or to my sisters,” Giselle said, still seeming calm. “Last night, they were afraid. Many feared he’d killed you, your own lover among them. It was a dark night, our hero was gone and those left behind struggling to fill the gap. Liriel is capable but an outsider. The elves might follow her but not the humans. Alistair is a brave warrior and a respected one but not a leader, not yet. And your council fragments without you, each caring about their own agenda and sphere of influence, and not about the others. Any one of them could lead, if they were willing to pay attention to the others’ work, but none will agree to support any of the others. They need a unifier to rally around. Without that unifier… the entire Inquisition faltered. Had you truly perished, this movement might have perished with you.”

Miraak wasn’t so sure about that. But he did know it would have broken Dorian’s heart, and it did make things immeasurably easier with him alive.

“I didn’t die, Mother,” Miraak told her. “He is not as powerful as he believes, and has not faced a true equal for a long time, I think. He faced me, and he fled the field. And he lost a significant power source. It hasn’t made him helpless, I know. He will try again. But we are not helpless either. He has revealed himself now. We will rebuild in our new home. We will fight back. And next time we meet, I will end him.”

“And there is our confident Herald,” Giselle said, approving. “You are an example to us all. If more had your faith, we would all benefit.”

Ha, she thought that? Miraak was fairly certain his levels of confidence shouldn’t be universal. Ordinary mortals benefited from rather more caution. 

“Are there those here who don’t have faith in me?” Miraak asked. Thankfully, Giselle shook her head.

“Last night, perhaps. Today, on seeing you return triumphant… no. You must sense the mood in the camp today. Hopeful. Focused. Eager to fight back. That is your doing, Herald. Your return inspired them all, as did your story. You faced a great evil alone, and you made it flee, and you even stole its power for yourself. It remains to be seen what you do with it… but for now, you are a hero to these people, monsieur. You are the light who held back darkness then returned in triumph. You are truly Andraste’s Herald now. None could have stood against that creature except one gifted by the Maker.”

 _I’m really not._ He didn’t feel it anyway. And yet… and yet his Thu’um had carried the day. A power he neither asked for nor earned, although he’d had to work for Bend Will. But being Dragonborn? That had been a gift. A gift from Akatosh or a random quirk of heredity, Miraak didn’t know. But his family weren’t noble. They weren’t heroes. They’d been ordinary working folk with no history of mages or mighty heroes in their line. Ordinary people. Until him.

Maybe the gods had chosen him. It had been hard to believe it, all that time as Mora’s plaything in Apocrypha. But… perhaps it had been necessary in order to bring him here. So he could save and protect these people. Be the hero here he never could have been under the Dragon Cult. Even if he had killed Alduin, the Tongues would never have trusted him. That alliance would never have lasted. Here? Who knew. But if people believed him a hero based on nothing other than seeing him in action… that was something new. Perhaps there was a divine plan unfolding. Maybe.

What he did know was that it had set him on a path that met Dorian, and he could never be anything other than thankful for that.

“I’m honoured,” Miraak told her, meaning it. “I can’t call myself Andrastian. I wasn’t raised as such. And I think if I met her, I’d find someone with power like mine. A peer to be respected but not worshipped. But… I follow Our Father. In my own way. If he led me here, who am I to argue?”

“Who indeed,” Giselle agreed. “I agree holding you to rules that were designed for ordinary mortals is a lost cause. You are carving your own path, writing your own destiny. Study Andraste’s story. Learn from her. But I don’t expect you to be kneeling at her statues, blindly singing the Chant. You are the Maker’s child, doing his will. It is enough. Only… a word of caution. Andraste was betrayed in the end by her own husband. Because she trusted him blindly. I would not see you make the same mistake.”

“What are you…” Miraak stopped as he realised just what she was implying here, and the atmosphere literally prickled with electricity as Miraak’s rage spiked. How dare she imply Dorian was anything less than loyal. How dare she!

“Dorian is not a traitor!” Miraak snapped. “He’s a loyal and principled man. Leave him be.”

Giselle sighed heavily but did not argue.

“You are attached to him. All see it. Very well, Herald, I will not try and talk you out of it. But you should know people talk.”

“Why, because he’s a man?” Miraak snapped. “Or a mage? So am I!”

Giselle shook her head.

“He is Tevinter, monsieur. And not a commoner with no prospects either. He is a magister’s son, with all that implies. One estranged from his family, perhaps. But if they offered to reconcile, invited him back home, welcomed him with open arms… do you think no part of him would be tempted to return?”

Miraak remembered Dorian all too casually mentioning how his mother beat him for being not manly enough, and then arranged for him to attend a strict Andrastian boarding school to carry on the abuse for her. Their price for reconciliation was marriage to a woman, and Miraak had no illusion of that changing. Dorian would never have left if he was capable of managing that.

“No,” Miraak said firmly. “He was offered the chance to join the Venatori and he said no. He helped bring down his own former mentor because he’d chosen the wrong path. He saved my life, Mother! He’s consistently taken care of me and been there for me. And last night when he thought I might not have made it, it broke his heart. He’s not going to betray me!”

“Perhaps not,” Giselle said, still radiating disapproval. “Perhaps if he can use you for his own purposes instead, he has no need to. Take care, my lord. The deepest blows come from those close to us.”

Giselle took her leave, leaving Miraak seething. How dare she. How fucking dare she. Dorian was not using him! Not like that anyway. Were it not for Dorian…

Were it not for Dorian, Miraak would have Solas dead in a ditch by now, half the Inquisition under Bend Will to save the arguments, including Mother Giselle herself if she kept this up, and be well on the way to being what Corypheus could only dream of being. As it was, Dorian wanted a hero he could admire and look up to. So a hero Miraak would be. And right now, said hero wanted Dorian in his bed.

He found him round the Chargers’ fire, Varric and Alistair there too, and it turned out Varric and Alistair had worked together before, introduced by Alistair’s sister-in-law but it turned out Alistair had also been familiar with the pirate captain Varric had invited on the job.

“Now I wasn’t expecting the Rivaini and Mabari here to have ever shared a social circle but it turns out that our fine, upstanding Hero of the Blight here meets Isabela, goes scarlet and then Isabela…”

“Isabela bloody _winks_ at me and say ‘hello handsome, changed your mind? I don’t see Lyra and Zevran with you’”, Alistair finished, taking up the story. “I just… I just want to live a nice normal life. With my wife. Without… without getting propositioned and flirted with!”

Miraak settled down next to Dorian, dying to know the story behind this one.

“Who is this Isabela who was flirting with Alistair?” Miraak had to ask.

“A pirate queen from Antiva who used to live in Kirkwall, also spent time in Ferelden, met Alistair and Lyra during the Blight and apparently invited Alistair to a foursome involving her, Lyra and Lyra’s partner Zevran Arainai. Apparently Alistair’s reaction was to shriek and run.”

“I did not… it’s not funny!” Alistair cried, going scarlet. “I’m not… not like that! I don’t just run off and have group sex with people.”

“Technically it’s not group sex, it’s a foursome,” Bull pointed out. “Need at least five people for it to be group sex.”

Miraak hadn’t known there were categories. And clearly nor had Alistair who’d just whispered ‘Maker!’ and gone scarlet.

“You are not into that sort of thing,” Miraak said, it becoming very apparent that his new Dragonborn brother might be a bit...sheltered. Sexually anyway, he’d had his fair share of adventures otherwise.

Alistair shook his head. 

“No! I don’t… I don’t understand how people can just have sex like it’s some sort of recreational activity! It should mean something. I mean, I wanted it to mean something. And I definitely didn’t want to lose my virginity to three different people.”

And then Alistair realised what he’d said and promptly huddled up, knees to his chest, head on his knees, hiding his face as the giggling started. The main offender being Dorian, of all people.

It was pretty funny. But also rather sweet.

“How old were you at the time?” Miraak had to ask, pointedly putting an arm round Dorian in an attempt to get him to behave.

“Nineteen,” came the muffled response. “Look, I didn’t get out much in the Wardens! And I lived in a Chantry monastery and a Templar barracks before that! Not many women around, Chantry brothers, Knight-Lieutenants and terrifying Chantry Mothers all waiting to beat you if you stepped out of line. I was too terrified to even try anything.”

Dorian at least had stopped giggling at that point, probably remembering the boarding schools he’d ended up at, and was patting Alistair on the back.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Dorian was saying gently. “For what it’s worth, I went to a boarding school a bit like that. I wasn’t happy either. I’m sorry. I can imagine it might have been a bit much for an inexperienced nineteen year old. I’m glad you were brave enough to say no, and hope you’ve been able to have a little fun since.”

Alistair emerged, still looking a bit pink, but he did have this wry little smile on his face.

“Not exactly,” Alistair admitted. “I mean, I did have sex eventually. But… apart from this one other time, I’ve really only ever been with Bethany. She’s my wife. I… miss her.”

Alistair fell silent, staring into the fire, heedless of the murmured ‘awww!’ going round the fire. And it was adorable, it was true. Miraak had known at a young age that he was definitely going to have more than one lover in his life, but he’d put everything aside for Saering. No one else had mattered once he’d had Saering in his bed. Nothing had mattered with Saering gone. And now he had Dorian, and sex with anyone else just felt unthinkable now.

He couldn’t imagine being separated from Dorian for long, and they’d not been together for more than a few months. How Alistair was feeling with his wife not here, Miraak couldn’t imagine.

“You never mentioned a wife,” Miraak said, watching him carefully and remembering Alistair had mentioned something up with the Wardens but not had the chance to go into details. Perhaps it was linked to the absent wife. “She’s not with you?”

“No,” Alistair said quietly. “She’s still with the Wardens. It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” Miraak said, sensing this was important. “Go on. She’s still there, but you left. Why?”

“This is complicated,” Alistair sighed. “I need to go into detail about the Wardens. But we share in the darkspawn taint so we can hunt them without dying. It’s got a price though. Eventually we succumb to it, start turning into something like darkspawn ourselves. We’re meant to leave the world behind at that point, go to the Deep Roads, seek death down there, but we get a warning. There’s this song of the Blight, and we start hearing it long before the physical corruption starts. It’s called the Calling. It’s the sign the end is coming. And, well… a few months ago, every Warden in Orlais and Ferelden started hearing it. We all thought we were dying.”

“All at once,” Miraak said, suspicion already rising. That didn’t sound likely, and he told Alistair that.

“You know, Bethany said the same thing,” Alistair said, sad little smile on her face. “She spent weeks in pieces thinking it was her time, and then we found out everyone had theirs. And then she got suspicious, because it turned out illusion spells stopped it entirely. Which shouldn’t be the case. Bethany suspected it might not be a real Calling, but for all of us to think we were hearing it… Bethany couldn’t even begin to think who, what or why might want all the Grey Wardens to think they’re dying at once.”

Silence round the campfire, because after last night, Miraak began to have a far better idea of who. 

“Corypheus can influence Grey Warden minds through the Blight,” Miraak said, reaching for the orb. “I don’t know if he was using this or not, but I might be able to replicate the effects with it if I tried. I’m not going to try.”

That last bit added hastily for Dorian’s sake.

“You’d need to be a seriously powerful mage to do that,” Alistair said, then remembered who he was talking about. “Well. You and Corypheus both count as that. If he is behind it, do you think you can stop it?”

“Almost certainly,” Miraak purred, stroking the orb and smiling. If nothing else, ripping the Blight out of them would stop the Calling. The orb could make one Shout serve for an entire keep.

“Hope so,” Alistair said softly. “Because that’s not all. You know when people are frightened, they make really bad decisions?”

Miraak didn’t like where this was going. He was right.

“Well, the Wardens decided that they couldn’t just abandon the world to the Blight with two sleeping Archdemons out there. So… they decided they weren’t just going to go to the Deep Roads, they were going to find the Archdemons first and kill them.”

Miraak winced at that. When he’d heard the tale of how Blights were caused, by darkspawn finding and corrupting a sleeping dragon, maybe even a Dov, causing the dragon to rise and lead the darkspawn on a bloody slaughter, he’d felt sorry mainly for the poor dragon. Yes, he’d led a rebellion against them. Yes, he’d bound many to his will, killed and taken the souls of many more. But… they were still dragons. Beautiful, powerful, magnificent creatures. They did not deserve the fate the Blight left for them.

It wasn’t something he could talk about. There weren’t many, save maybe Liriel, who’d come close to understanding. Most would think there was something wrong with him for not feeling more sorry for all the people who died in these things. And he did feel sorry for the people too, yes. But there were plenty of memorials for the humanoid victims of Blights. No one mourned the death of a mighty Dovah. So Miraak did it instead.

“Would that even work?” Miraak had to ask. “The Deep Roads are dangerous.”

“Yeah, I know,” Alistair said bitterly. “Which is why Warden-Commander Clarel came up with this brilliant idea of raising an army of demons to help us. Except binding powerful enough demons requires blood magic, lots of it. Now, the Wardens don’t ban it the same way everywhere else does. It’s not taboo to learn. But you’re only supposed to use it on the darkspawn in combat. You’re not… you’re not meant to sacrifice a perfectly healthy non-mage Warden to use his blood to raise and bind the demons.”

Shocked silence and Miraak realised why Alistair was on the run.

“They wanted to use your blood?”

“I’m sure they would have tried. I would have spoken out but Bethany stopped me. She told me it’d just make me a target. Smart one, Bethie. She snuck me out instead, told me to get to Kirkwall and find her sister, get help. So I did. But Clarel’s clearly not pleased I went AWOL because the Wardens have been tracking me ever since. And Bethany’s still there and I don’t know what they’ve done to her. Or what they’ve made her do. Or…”

Alistair lowered his head, huddling his knees to his chest again, and Miraak realised the poor man must be worried sick. And he’d been keeping this to himself all this time. Well. Not all this time. He’d likely told Liriel.

“Where are they,” Miraak said, trading places with Dorian and putting an arm round him. “Say the word, we’ll have people out there investigating. It’ll be my top priority once we reach our new base.”

“So it should be,” Dorian said sombrely. “Didn’t Corypheus invade Orlais with an army of demons in that Dark Future? I think we might now know where he got it.”

Gods damn it. Still, it would make it easier to convince the Council this was Corypheus’s next move.

“Then we move on this as soon as we have our base,” Miraak decided. “Which won’t be more than a week or two at most. I’ll talk to the Council. They’ll see sense, I’m sure. Did you find Bethany’s sister?”

“Yes, ran into her in Orlais of all places. She was actually looking for Wardens, wanted to know if they could tell her anything about red lyrium,” Alistair said, smiling a little. “I couldn’t really help her with that, but when she heard about Bethany being all alone with suicidal demon-raising Wardens, she went straight out there. She’s in the Western Approach now, investigating.”

“Western Approach? I know it,” Bull said grimly. “Been hired to head out there to hunt desert creatures before now. Sometimes it’s alchemists, sometimes it’s tailors wanting accessories for outfits. Doesn’t matter. Good coin in it. But it’s all desert and sulphur fumes out there, boss. Prepare for heat like you never experienced.”

Miraak’s horror must have shown in his face because he’d lived all his life on Solstheim then come to mountains. He knew mountains. He could handle the cold. Snow and ice were old friends. But deserts? Heat? _Sand??_

Bormah have mercy.

Dorian’s hand in his, squeezing it.

“My poor mountain flower. May I take it you don’t do well in the heat?”

Miraak had no idea. He’d never lived anywhere warm before. He suspected that he would not like it. He’d heard of this thing called… sunburn. 

Miraak pulled Dorian close, shivering. This had better be worth it. At least Alistair wasn’t exactly heat adapted either. 

Dorian in his arms reminded him of what he’d been looking for in the first place. And of Mother Giselle’s disapproving remarks about Dorian using him for his own purposes. Which still rankled, precisely because that was the part Miraak liked. Dorian was very clear about what he wanted and Miraak liked giving it to him, and if Dorian wanted to make use of Miraak any way he saw fit, that was… incredibly arousing.

“Fariiki,” Miraak murmured in Dorian’s ear as the conversation moved elsewhere and attention drifted off them. “Fariiki, where’s the tent?”

“That one over there, the big one, why-” Dorian’s voice trailed off as it registered Miraak was stroking his hair and was _right there,_ and his voice had dropped into a seductive purr while his eyes were looking Dorian over very appreciatively.

“I was thinking of spending the afternoon there. Join me?” Miraak murmured.

Dorian’s eyes widened and then a smile spread across his face.

“Lead the way,” Dorian breathed, and taking Dorian by the hand, Miraak led him off. Mother Giselle feared Dorian was taking advantage? She was absolutely right and Miraak was about to ask Dorian to do more of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Much later, and after Miraak had drawn Dorian on to the pile of furs and straw in the centre of the tent and whispered to give him the filthiest, kinkiest sex he could come up with, Dorian had obliged.

Wrists bound together, gagged, Miraak had been pinned to the furs and thoroughly fucked while Dorian kept up a litany of filth in his ear, all about what a filthy little slut Miraak was for enjoying all this and what would the Inquisition think if they knew their hero liked being thoroughly degraded in private… and as always, it got steadily softer as things proceeded, with Dorian whispering how good Miraak felt and how beautiful he looked and that it was alright, pet, it really was, Dorian was here, Miraak was safe, Miraak could let go and give in.

Miraak would have screamed as he’d come were it not for the gag but as it was, the orgasm tore through him and left him spent and exhausted while Dorian stretched out over him and reached his own.

Now they were cleaned up, Miraak unbound and lying back on the bed with Dorian in his arms, tired and aching, eyes closed and sleepy but happy. So very very happy.

“Thank you,” Miraak whispered. “I love you, you know.”

“Love you too,” Dorian said sleepily, nestling on Miraak’s chest as if he’d not been busy defiling the Herald not ten minutes ago. “What brought this on, amatus? Not that I mind, of course. Seems like you weren’t just feeling randomly aroused though. Something wrong?”

Yes. No. Maybe.

“Mother Giselle doesn’t approve of you,” Miraak told him. “She seems to think you will either betray me, abandon me as soon as your homeland comes calling or that you’re here using me. I remembered how much I enjoyed that part and went to find you.”

“You-” Dorian woke up, lifting his head, staring at Miraak, appalled. “Wait, you brought me in here, practically begged – _begged_ – me to thoroughly defile and degrade you and you did all that just to spite Mother Giselle?”

“Yes,” Miraak said, feeling very pleased with himself. “And I will definitely be asking you to do it again, Dorian Thuri. You’re meeting needs I’d forgotten I even had. Thank you, amatus.”

Dorian smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re welcome, my love,” Dorian said, lowering his head back down and kissing his chest. “What she said, it doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it bothered me, how dare she interfere with what we have,” Miraak said, wrapping arms round Dorian and snuggling him. “You are my lokaal, my beloved, my precious one. There is nothing wrong with what we’re doing.”

“No,” Dorian said softly. “It never crossed your mind it might actually happen? That I might turn or abandon you or be taking advantage?”

“No,” Miraak said, hands gently rubbing Dorian’s back. “I know you. She doesn’t. I know you’re a good man. And that you care about me. Even if whenever I’m affectionate to you, you end up crying and telling me you hate me. Seriously, Dorian, why do declarations of affection provoke you into telling me I’m awful, but a proposition of physical gratification turns you into a cuddler.”

Dorian said nothing, reaching out to trail a finger down Miraak’s neck and along his shoulder.

“Because I don’t cry, don’t like doing it and yet when you start telling me I’m your precious one, I can’t help it,” Dorian finally said. “To be frank, Miraak, you keep making me feel things. I have spent years cultivating the most shallow, vapid persona I could come up with and here you are, demolishing it with a few words and bringing up all these emotions and making me feel things. I’d tell you off but I’m in too good a mood. But inviting me to bed? That I’m used to. That I can manage. That’s like being back home, except we don’t have to find a discreet corner because we’ve got a bed, we don’t need to worry about anyone walking in on us because you’ll just Shout them out of the tent, and it’s not all over in twenty minutes at most and then we’re rearranging our clothes and slipping back out to polite society before anyone notices we’ve gone. We can do what we need to and then do this. Stay together. Forever if we like. We can spend the night together and you’re still here in the morning and we can just be together. I can just spend an afternoon having fun in the arms of my favourite person and not have to worry about anything else. Except Mother Giselle apparently.”

Miraak tightened his grip on Dorian and pulled him closer, wondering if he’d done the right thing in telling him. Too late now. Besides he had a right to know.

“She’s wrong and you’re good for me,” Miraak murmured to him. “Forget her. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Ah, to be a Herald,” Dorian sighed. “The opinions of lesser beings just flow right off. You know she’s a highly respected Chantry Mother, yes? She has a lot of influence over the Inquisition rank and file, hmm? You realise her approval might be important.”

“Not as important as defeating Corypheus,” Miraak said, mind already drifting to what he was going to do to his nemesis. “And no one’s opinion matters to me more than yours, fariiki. _No one’s._ ”

Miraak held Dorian, leaning to kiss his forehead and holding him close, loving the way Dorian just seemed to fit in his arms as if he belonged there. Which in Miraak’s opinion, he clearly did.

“Did you mean it?” Miraak asked, his mind coming back to one phrase in particular. “Am I really your favourite person?”

Dorian said nothing but he did nestle closer.

“Of course you are,” he said sleepily. “I adore you to teeny, tiny little pieces. Just having you around makes everything that bit better. You make me a very happy man, you know.”

Miraak cradled Dorian in his arms, squeezing him tight, feeling a little bit tearful himself. Love and adoration – of course, those were practically his due. But favourite person? Ever? Or just right now? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Dorian meant it… and it meant more to Miraak than any mere declaration of love did. 

Dorian loved him back. Despite all outward casualness, Dorian saw things the same way Miraak did. Maybe he couldn’t admit it. But Dorian certainly felt it. For Miraak, it was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, Miraak in the heat. The man who fearlessly faces down any foe meets his match and it's warm weather. Sadly Miraak, you can't Bend Will the sun. Stop whining, you'll have to wear sun salve like everyone else. ... and now he's working on using the orb to provide air conditioning.
> 
> I'm hoping Fiona will have the nerve to tell Alistair she's his mother at some point, but right now she's not brave enough. Still... the feelings are there. We'll see.
> 
> Alistair in this universe not only stayed as a Warden, Bethany Hawke ended up as one too (against her will, but it was that or die from the Blight), they met, Bethany realised joining the Wardens was worth it to meet Alistair, and now they're married. So if you were wondering who I was planning to ship Alistair with... no one! He's got someone! Him and Bethany always got on in Age of the Dragon, to the extent I started shipping them myself. Couldn't happen in that fic, so they're just good friends there... but here is entirely another matter.
> 
> Next chapter is the journey and arrival at Skyhold, in which it becomes increasingly clear that Dorian is Not Coping. Not with the cold, not with realising the Inquisition went from plucky underdogs to Big Deal overnight and that his Herald boyfriend's about to become a major player, none of it. It's played down in game, but there's a man who, given his past, must have some fairly major mental health issues lurking. They're about to come out.


	17. Welcome to Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving the wreckage of Haven behind, and their new home by no means certain and the limbo is hard on everyone.. but particularly a certain Tevinter with no love for the cold, no wilderness survival skills, and whose self-worth was conditioned to hinge on his usefulness. And even on arrival at Skyhold, things don't let up as the need for the Inquisition to have an official leader sharpens... and so do Dorian's mental health issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dorian, he is not having a good time in this chapter. He's not good in the cold, he's feeling useless, and Miraak isn't always the best person to nurture someone through this sort of thing. Plus there's the traumatic background, which canon plays down the after-effects of and Dorian himself tends to minimise... but they are most certainly there and coming through in style in this one.
> 
> Warnings apply! Smut in the third scene. And content warnings for off-page self-harm mentions.

Liriel took her leave the next day, leaving with the Ferelden contingent, but not before Miraak had asked her opinion on the Warden situation.

“Keep in mind I know nothing about the Blight,” Liriel warned him. “Only what Alistair told me and what we’ve managed to research ourselves, but that’s not much so far. But… it’s a disease, an infection, and diseases can be cured. And this disease is not predictable in Wardens – you usually get at least ten years but after that, the time varies. Some go quick, others resist for years. For an entire population of Wardens from varying backgrounds? If they’re all getting the Calling at once, that’s very suspicious. In fact it sounds like the sort of thing an insane darkspawn magister might do if he had power to control Blighted creatures with blood magic, and wanted to undermine an order that specialised in killing darkspawn. Maybe the demon army is a happy side bonus, or maybe that was his main objective all along. Either way, if you think he’s intending to use it to invade Orlais… Miraak, you need to get out there. We looked into where the Western Approach is, it’s the other side of Orlais and it’s desert. _Desert._ We barely have the resources to get there, never mind do anything once we’re there. But… I think you could do it. Specifically, I think you’ve got enough soldiers to take the place and your Ambassador can make sure no one gives them any trouble crossing Orlais. Seriously, how do you just find these people??”

“I fell out of the Fade and they had the good fortune to catch me,” Miraak said deadpan… at least for a few moments and then he took in her outraged face and burst out laughing.

“Sorry,” he admitted. “But Cassandra and Leliana were already here, Cassandra had Cullen and his men with her, and Leliana has known Josephine for years. They would have an Inquisition with or without me.”

Liriel glanced at the Council who were bickering in the background.

“I think they’d be dead without you,” Liriel observed, then grimaced. “Kyne damn it. This is killing me to admit, you know. But… you will help?”

“Of course, I gave Alistair my word,” Miraak promised. “His wife is out there. I won’t just leave him hanging, especially not given we’ve got a link to Corypheus now. Don’t worry. I can deal with this.”

“I hope so,” Liriel said softly. “Look, I won’t leave all of this up to you. I said we’d have difficulty getting there, but it’s not impossible. We can get a forward camp out there, a presence. I don’t think we can do much more than observe, but if this Hawke is out there, maybe we can find her and compare notes. At the very least she deserves to know Alistair found help and is on his way with Andraste’s Herald at his back. We can keep a moderate sized camp supplied, I think. I’ll let you know anyway. When your people get out there, find us, we’ll let you know what’s been going on.”

Miraak promised he’d do that, and it hit him then that he liked her. He liked working with her. She was bright, cunning, magically powerful… and worthy. Very very worthy of the dragon blood, and he was proud of her.

Cicero went with her of course, and Miraak gave him a hug before he left, and managed to bear the breathless little gasp and squeal as Cicero wriggled up against him, face flushed and bloody _purring_ at him, expression on his face leaving no doubt that someone liked men and had a size kink and a dominance kink and definitely would quite like Miraak on top of him.

Saering had never squealed in his life. Saering had been proud of his hard-won masculinity. Miraak had a feeling Saering had been a top… but too afraid to ever really dominate Miraak. 

_Ah, Saering, you should have done, I’d have given you anything you liked._ But Saering was gone. Saering was dead and for the first time in years, it no longer tore at Miraak to think of it. Saering was gone and yes it was at least partly Miraak’s fault and Miraak really could have been a better husband… but for the first time, Miraak was starting to think maybe Saering could have been a better fucking husband as well, because here was Dorian, who had plenty of issues of his own but who listened to Miraak and was willing to talk about his own feelings and being with him already felt so different. So natural. So easy. Not flawlessly perfect by any means. But it felt right.

And it meant Miraak could look on Saering’s face on someone nothing like Saering and feel no desire to do anything and no regrets about desire not being there. He was very fond of Cicero, of course. But it ended there.

Somewhere along the line, Miraak had somehow made peace with Saering’s memory and let a lot of the emotions go. By talking about it at last. By letting it out and lying there in Dorian’s arms and realising his beloved still loved him. By looking into Dorian’s eyes and realising he could be a conquering warrior hero who swept his beloved off his feet and also his beloved’s pampered pet who could curl up in his lap and be doted on, and didn’t have to hide either side of him. But, it had to be said, quite a lot of it had been seeing Saering’s face again and realising the attraction just wasn’t there any more. He wanted Cicero to be healthy and happy and all right… but did not want him anywhere near his bed. Frankly, finding out that he had a wife back in the Reach was a blessed, blessed relief. If a surprise, because giggling, squealing, pretty Cicero turning out to be bi was… well, it just went to show. Apparently his wife wasn’t very gender-conforming either and liked her lovers on the femme side.

“I’ll miss him,” Dorian sighed as he watched them all leave. “My nails look amazing, my feet are the smoothest they’ve been in months, the massages were to die for and the shaves… Maker, the shaves. I never really understood shaving kinks before. Now I do. Miraak, why are you sending him away? Can’t we keep him?”

“He’s going _home,_ ” Miraak said pointedly. “There are _children,_ Dorian. No doubt he has missed them. He has better things to do than give you a hot shave for the rest of his life. And stop staring at his arse. You wanted exclusivity, you get exclusivity.”

“I know but he’s got such pretty lips and those _fingers,_ ” Dorian sighed. “He’d have looked adorable writhing underneath you, wouldn’t you say, pet?”

“Drem, Dorian,” Miraak growled, the safe word letting Dorian know he was on thin fucking ice here. “We’re _not_ having any threesomes. And definitely not with him. He looks like my husband, Dorian.”

“He looks like…” Dorian’s head whipped after Cicero, colour draining out of his face. “Maker, Miraak, you never once said!”

“I never had any intention of sleeping with him,” Miraak said, slipping an arm round Dorian. “As soon as he opened his mouth, it was clear he was nothing like Saering, not really. As it was, he played his own role in helping me lay Saering’s memory to rest. I will admit he is cute. But attempting to have sex with him would have been a monumental mistake.”

“Maker, of course it would,” Dorian whispered, turning back to Miraak, raising a hand to his face. “And you never said, you just let me… are you all right?? That must have been a horrific shock.”

“It was the same day I met Madanach and his sister and realised Liriel had followed me here, which I now realise was no coincidence and he was there not just to meet me but to make sure his agent infiltrated successfully,” Miraak sighed. “Seeing Saering’s face on a stranger was just one more thing to deal with on a long list. I knew it wasn’t him of course. But all the same, I knew I couldn’t just leave him. I don’t think Liriel or Madanach knew it.”

“Miraak,” Dorian whispered, pulling him into his arms. “Don’t downplay this. That had to have thrown you.”

It had. But he’d coped. And he’d coped in large part because he had Dorian now and it didn’t matter, not like it might once have done.

“Of course it did but I had you,” Miraak said softly, holding on to Dorian. “Until I reached Haven and nearly didn’t. Gods damn it, Dorian, after that nothing mattered but keeping you with me. Cicero looking like Saering stopped mattering – and I might add, Saering would in no way have pulled that stunt with locking us in the cabin. Believe me, that had a way of bringing it home that this was not my ex-husband returned from the dead.”

Dorian nestled closer, soft almost-laugh escaping his lips.

“Dear little scamp. Saved us from ourselves. Miraak, you have to know I’m so glad I stayed. I’m so glad I gave you a chance. You’ve more than repaid my faith in you, amatus, and… and I love you. Very much. Only please tell me these things. Even if you didn’t need any emotional support, I’d never have said a word about bedding him if I’d known!”

Most likely not. Gods, it was hard to believe that hadn’t even been a fortnight ago. In that time, they’d managed to seal a Breach and lose their home, their little cabin, their haven from the world.

Miraak would miss that cabin. Home to their tentative first date, to their first tentative explorations, learning about the other… to their first big argument that nearly broke them both, but then home to a tearful reconciliation and a promise to do better. And home to their first intimacies and declarations of love.

It had been the ground that supported their relationship, and now it was gone, Miraak’s first attempt to provide a home for them lost to Corypheus’s malice. But they doubtless would have moved on at some point. The cabin still stood. Miraak had locked it. Perhaps they’d rebuild Haven one day, and perhaps a family or young couple would have that cabin for their own and turn it into a place of love and happiness. He could hope.

As it was, Skyhold awaited. A new home for them all. Or possibly a waste of time that saw him Shouting Solas into the nearest ravine. Miraak would have to see when they got there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A week? It was nearly two. No one travelled fast in the mountains. But Solas insisted it was this way and so Miraak had them all follow, holding Dorian’s hand by day and at night pitching the tent, a skill Miraak was getting good at by this point, and collapsing into bed with Dorian in his arms.

“Happy?” Miraak murmured to Dorian each night.

“Miserable, old chap,” Dorian inevitably responded. “My feet hurt. I’m freezing. I hate walking, I hate the outdoors, I hate snow, I hate tents and there is only one part of all this that pleases me even remotely.”

“Which is?” Miraak would ask, trying not to smile.

“You’re here,” Dorian would say, nestling into his arms. “I’ve been in your company near constantly. And… I’m not tired of it at all. Are you tired of me yet? You must be, I have been whining continuously.”

“I barely noticed,” Miraak murmured, drawing Dorian into his arms and smiling. For all Dorian was having a miserable time, Miraak liked having him around. Even if he did end up having to put Dorian on the back of his barded charger to save him walking. Of course the infuriatingly beautiful man then complained of being saddle-sore. By this point Miraak decided Dorian just liked complaining.

It never occurred to Miraak once to Shout Dorian anywhere. Every night he would put up the tent, share food with Dorian, take Dorian to bed and even though they didn’t actually have much sex, they cuddled constantly and Miraak could only feel content. Because it felt like being married again. 

It wasn’t remotely soon enough to propose to Dorian. He didn’t even know if that was possible. But one night he persuaded Alistair and Varric to entertain Dorian, made some excuse about needing to check on his advisors, and then after a brief chat with them all, sought out Vivienne.

“Two men getting married. Is that legal?” Miraak had to ask. Because while no one had seemed scandalised or shocked at Miraak having a male lover, he’d seen few couples. Yes, Bull had liaisons with anyone willing but the Qun didn’t have marriage, it just had a breeding programme. Sure, Sera liked women but she was barely twenty years old and completely irresponsible, marriage was nowhere in sight for her. Leliana was almost certainly not straight – a woman with the foresight to lay on lubricants for two men on a date definitely knew her way round same-sex liaisons – but Miraak was frankly afraid to ask. He wasn’t entirely sure Alistair didn’t find men attractive either but it was clear he presently only had eyes for his wife.

Vivienne almost certainly preferred men to women, but she was worldly, experienced, had been a nobleman’s official mistress for years – if anyone knew about unconventional relationships it was her.

Vivienne raised both eyebrows, clearly surprised and then she smiled.

“Darling! Are you considering it? I know you and Dorian are close, any fool can see that, but I had no idea… congratulations, my dear. He’s good for you.”

Miraak smiled. No mask for Vivienne. He wanted his face visible for this one.

“I haven’t asked, and I don’t think we’re ready to make it official, not yet. But I wanted to know. What my options are. Back home, I’d just wear an Amulet of Mara for him, wait for him to notice and then declare undying love and ask him to wed me. But… Thedas is different, and Dorian is no Atmoran. He will require time to get used to the possibility of being my lawful wedded husband. And I… I need to know if that possibility is even real.”

“Oh darling,” Vivienne said softly. “You don’t even know? It is legal in Orlais and Ferelden both but nobles can’t afford to. They require heirs. I told you before, for a nobleman, and you certainly qualify as that by this point, marriage is the business of alliance and inheritance. It is not about love. But… it does happen. Among the lower orders, it doubtless occurs all the time. And you are not an heir to a fortune. You make your own, and who you might leave it to is your business. If you married another man… work on your reputation, and I don’t believe anyone will gainsay you. The problem might be Dorian.”

“Because he’s Tevinter?” Miraak said bitterly, having heard this before from Mother Giselle… but he sensed little disapproval in Vivienne’s voice.

“Because he is the son of a magister and has no siblings to carry on that line,” Vivienne said, staring into the fire. “I know he left Tevinter behind to join us, and has been extremely vocal on not wanting to go back and how terrible the place is. We also all noticed that he had few possessions on arrival and his clothes were in need of repair, and that the finery he’s been sporting since has been either gifted from you, a spoil of war or something he’s saved his Inquisition salary to buy. His family are not supporting him. I don’t know what the disagreement is, you doubtless know more than I. But he’s clearly estranged from his family. Still. Don’t think that means the connection is entirely dead. Unless you find out he’s been officially disinherited, assume he might still be heir to a magister’s seat. If this is the case… consider one day he might decide to take the seat up, and on that day, he might want heirs. Heirs you can’t provide.”

“Can’t I,” Miraak said, amused. “Vivienne, there is considerably more chance of me fathering a child on someone else and presenting it to Dorian as ours than Dorian ever taking a wife. He likes men. Only men. Any act that might result in a child will be one Dorian won’t want to be taking part in. He has that problem regardless. He may as well marry someone he loves.”

“As well he might,” Vivienne said, smiling. “Well darling, I can only really speak for Orlais, but past Divines have said all marriages contracted in love are valid in the Maker’s eyes, and most lands under the Orlesian Chantry do recognise same-sex marriages. It’s just nobles don’t normally engage in them so they’re considered lower status. But they are still lawful. And just because a noble had to marry a woman to get heirs does not mean he will never love another man. Same-sex paramours are ridiculously common-place, darling. And while a paramour does not have the same legal rights a spouse would, an officially declared one will enjoy all the social status their lover does. They can also count on being provided for if they have no funds of their own. No noble with any standing whatsoever would keep their paramour in any less luxury than their spouse. Money is no object. If you cannot afford a paramour, you don’t deserve the status of having one. Of course, most tend to install their paramour at their own estate if they can, it saves a fortune. If they have an understanding spouse and an heir or two already of course. You, my dear, have the advantage of no pre-existing spouse. You also don’t need to worry about living arrangements as Dorian is already here and an Inquisition dependent. And you at least don’t need heirs. My dear, if you declared him your official paramour, not only would no one mind, many might be happy for you. Unless they wanted you themselves of course.”

“A common malady,” Miraak purred, shaking his hair back. “Alas someone will inevitably be disappointed. It is one of life’s tragedies that I only love one at a time.”

Vivienne laughed, delighted.

“Darling, never change. My dear, I think Orlais is going to adore you. And I also believe that as long as Dorian can keep up the charm, your scandalous rogue of a Tevinter paramour might win a few hearts as well.”

Miraak did like that idea. Dorian was the light of Miraak’s life, the delight of his eyes, the other half of his soul and worth every second of his time in Apocrypha if it meant he arrived in this place and time to find Dorian Pavus waiting. It was long past time the world saw what he did. Dorian deserved more. Dorian deserved the world.

Dorian Pavus deserved to be happy and more importantly, recognised. Miraak was in no position to offer marriage… yet. But he knew what he wanted and where this relationship was going. Dorian was not just there to warm his bed. Dorian was worth something. Dorian meant the world to him. And the world should know about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Miraak?”

“...mmm? What is it, lokaaliin?”

They were curled up in the heap of fur blankets and straw that was their bed on the road, and despite Dorian’s inevitable complaining, it was warm and comfy and low maintenance and would see them to Orlais. Miraak had been on the verge of sleep but it was clear Dorian was still awake. And troubled by something.

“Do you still love me?”

“Of course I still love you,” Miraak murmured, wrapping arm around his troubled partner. “You are the light of my life, the treasure of my heart, my boon companion. What has changed?”

Dorian turned over and nestled closer, seeming a little reassured but not nearly enough for Miraak’s liking.

“Really, because I have been under the impression I’ve spent the last week being utterly useless and complaining constantly. We’ve barely had sex since that afternoon after Haven, and your collar’s been locked away in the box too...”

“We’ve had no privacy for play, Dorian,” Miraak murmured, missing that side of things too, and not actually a fan of risking being caught. Easier to shut off his more submissive side entirely… for now at least. “But we could still be intimate if you wanted.”

“No,” Dorian said firmly, and that did sting… and then Dorian sighed and was cuddling him again.

“No it won’t help,” Dorian said softly. “Maker, Miraak. I joined the Inquisition to help, but since Haven all I’ve been is in the way. Complaining. Not pitching in. I heard you talking with Blackwall while he was showing you how to pitch the tent. He was saying he was sure some of the men could do this for you, and you told him no, you could hear your father’s ghost shouting at you that a man who couldn’t pitch a tent in the mountains had no right to call himself Atmoran.”

Miraak did remember that. Harknir Hrongarsson had had Opinions on what constituted a True Atmoran and to Miraak’s chagrin, they’d stuck with him. Of course, Miraak’s interpretation was also a flexible one, and while Harknir had regarded using anything but your hands and a mallet to pitch a tent as the milk-drinker’s option, Miraak had no problem using magic to assist.

“And then Blackwall asked if that was why I wasn’t helping, because my ancestors had had slaves to do all this sort of thing and…” Dorian buried his face in the furs and Miraak realised Dorian might be crying. Oh no. 

“Dorian,” Miraak breathed. “Dorian, don’t. It’s all right. I told him in the next breath to leave you be, you weren’t suited to mountains.”

“It’s not fine,” he heard Dorian say softly. “Dammit, Miraak, I joined the Inquisition to help! To do something! Not… not sit around like some effete maiden and complain because her outfit is not to her liking or her nails broke. And yet here I am being exactly like that, people are _noticing,_ and… and eventually you will too and you’ll shout at me and move on to someone who’s actually useful. I feel like the worst kind of freeloader, and I hate it, Miraak. I hate being so fucking useless and I hate that I can’t even do anything to change that because there’s nothing I _can_ do. You’ve even got the tent pitching down to a fine art, you’ve organised our transport arrangements, the Inquisition is largely running itself and is certainly feeding us well enough and… and here I am. Useless.”

“You are not useless,” Miraak murmured, nuzzling his neck. “You are beautiful. You are my special Dorian and I love you very much. Did you want intimacy tonight? It can happen. I am happy to suck you off, you know that.”

“No!” Dorian snapped, jerking away. “I’m not… I didn’t join up just to provide sexual services to the Herald of Andraste! I’m not your bloody concubine!”

Silence, and Miraak didn’t even know how to respond to this other than either ‘of course you’re not, I love you, you’re my official paramour until such time as I can properly support a husband’ or possibly ‘damn it Dorian, is this what you’re like when you’re sex deprived?’

Neither would help matters, Miraak was sure. And then Dorian was turning towards him and reaching for him, putting an arm around him, and Miraak did not resist.

“I’m so sorry,” Dorian whispered. “I’m being such a bitch. I don’t want to be but… this is what I mean. I just feel so helpless and angry and I want to do more, be more, support you… but you’re coping with it all effortlessly and don’t even seem to need me. And I… how have you not gone off me yet. I’ve gone off me.”

Dorian sounded small and needy and unhappy like Miraak had never heard him, and he couldn’t help himself. Rolling Dorian on to his back, he pulled furs over them both and lay on top of Dorian, pinning him down in a warm little nest. Saering had always responded well to this. Miraak had no idea if it would work on Dorian but it was worth trying.

“I have not gone off you,” Miraak murmured in his ear. “I love you. I have in fact been thinking how having you around all the time reminds me of being married, and how much I missed the companionship. I do not treasure you for what you do for me, merely who you are. I don’t need you to do anything for me, just be there. As for what you bring to the Inquisition, we always knew your talents did not lie in wilderness survival. You are an academic, a scholar. You belong in a fine library with many books and things to research, with a comfortable chair by a roaring fire while the wind rages outside, drinking tea and lost for hours. Perhaps I will join you and do my own reading. Or maybe I will kneel at your feet with my head in your lap. Or maybe I will be the one to pick you up and carry you away when it is time for you to eat or sleep. This is not your natural habitat. Of course you are feeling constantly uncomfortable. It changes nothing. You are still my lokaal.”

Dorian had closed his eyes, head flung back, shifting under Miraak – trying to anyway.

“Miraak, damn it, let me… oh Maker, let me…” Dorian breathed.

“Let me what,” Miraak purred in his ear. He could already feel Dorian’s erection beneath him. Someone perhaps wanted sex after all.

“Let me… let me… god, Miraak, you utter beast, let me _move!_ ” Dorian gasped. Miraak grinned and shifted his weight so Dorian wasn’t completely helpless. A difference from Saering who liked the pressure.

“Don’t you dare move your prick away from mine,” Dorian growled. Miraak would take that as consent.

“As you wish,” he purred, shifting so his lower body bore down precisely on one particular area, and Dorian moaned.

“Gods yes, harder,” Dorian gasped. “Miraak… oh Miraak…”

Miraak leaned closer, letting his hair fall down around Dorian’s face, not easy to see in the darkness of the tent, but Dorian’s breath was hot against his cheek and Miraak knew he wanted this.

“I’m here,” Miraak breathed. “I’m right here. I know what you need. You need to come. You need to let go. That’s right. Get it out. Don’t hold back. You can feel me. I can feel you. And I want to feel you come.”

Dorian cried out and reached for Miraak then, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him in for a kiss, arching into him, nails on the hand that wasn’t grabbing Miraak’s hair digging into his back.

Miraak gasped but the pain just made him thrust harder, as did the litany of filth now pouring from Dorian’s mouth after he broke the kiss.

“You fucking animal, Miraak, you filthy, monstrous, beautiful, glorious animal, yes you like that, don’t you, you like the abuse, I can call you this and you’ll just keep fucking me harder, you little slut, Maker yes, don’t you fucking stop, don’t you dare let up, I’m going to come, I’m almost there, I… yes, yes, god Miraak yes!”

Dorian’s nails bit viciously into his skin as he came, and Miraak cried out, almost sobbing as he followed because he’d needed it, they both had, and Dorian wasn’t wrong about liking the abuse. Miraak did like the abuse. He liked having someone strong enough to put him in his place and keep him there, someone who could stand up to him, someone who could tell him no and keep him in line. Someone who could set some bloody boundaries.

Miraak reconsidered his thoughts of earlier and decided that this was nothing like being married had been. Rolling off Dorian and only wincing a little, he lay back on the furs, closing his eyes as a magelight flared and Dorian was there reaching for cloths to clean them both with.

“Stay there, pet. I’ve got this,” Dorian said gently and Miraak whimpered a little at the term of endearment which was far, far more than that. They didn’t live full-time in this state of course. But hearing Dorian call him that brought Miraak to heel at once, could make him drop to his knees and curl up in Dorian’s arms for head scratches. Miraak loved being the all-powerful, commanding Dragonborn, of course. But there had to be a balance and he found it in being Dorian Pavus’s beloved pet. 

Of course, that state of affairs flickered into life at the strangest of times, and it turned out Dorian had a gift for managing to turn even a situation with him on the bottom into a scene.

“You know, you are terrible at being a passive partner,” Miraak murmured sleepily as Dorian finished and wrapped an arm round him, all snuggles now.

“Yes, Miraak, I know, I believe that’s what I was trying to tell you the whole time,” Dorian sighed. “Ugh, for you, I can bear it until we reach this Skyhold place, but once we’re there, give me something to do! Take me out on a mission! Or even a shopping trip to Val Royeaux to buy curtains or something. Only… I joined to help you. So please. Let me do that.”

“Geh, fariiki,” Miraak murmured, closing his eyes and smiling. “It will be done.”

Dorian pulled fur over them both and burrowed in for the night.

“And tomorrow, pet, you’re showing me how to do the tent,” Dorian added.

Miraak smiled and agreed. If Dorian asked, he’d oblige. With any luck, he’d be a quick study. And unlike Dorian, Miraak had no problem whatsoever with sitting back and having nothing to do but be doted on. No problem at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

On the tenth day, they finally found it. Skyhold! 

Miraak hadn’t been sure what to expect. The site had been abandoned for some time, it might be little more than snow-covered rubble. Or walls but nothing left inside, just a glorified campsite.

It was nothing of the sort. One minute the scouts were reporting a castle. Then Solas smugly glancing at Miraak and suggesting he take a look. So Miraak took Cullen and went to look for himself.

Cassandra was already there, staring at it and Cullen stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Maker, is that it?” Cullen gasped.

“It would appear so,” Cassandra said, not taking her eyes off it. And Miraak stood there, staring at their new home, and behind the mask, couldn’t help but smile.

No doubt up close it might be rather less impressive but from here it looked like a veritable fortress. Walls – intact and nigh impregnable. Gatehouse and a long bridge over a chasm that would make life difficult for an invading army – perfect. A keep – relatively intact from the look of it. And it was just sitting here? For the taking? No one using it?

“No one,” Cullen confirmed. “Josephine said she knew of no one who’d laid claim to it. It’s been abandoned for ages. It’s ours for the taking if you want it, Herald.”

Miraak wanted it. Then hooves crunching in the snow, and Dorian rode up behind them, dismounting and staring at it in awe.

“That’s it? Skyhold?”

Miraak reached out an arm and pulled Dorian into an embrace, fairly buzzing in triumph. 

“Yes, fariiki, it is. We made it. Just in time for you to get good at doing the tent.”

Dorian just laughed and cuddled him. It took the two of them fifteen minutes to pack it up or put it away by this point. It was about five minutes longer than it would have taken Miraak alone, but Dorian feeling happier was worth every second.

“Do you think it has a library,” Dorian said softly. “I’d love a library.”

Miraak had never described Apocrypha in detail. The more he realised that Dorian loved libraries and books and learning beyond all reason, the more he’d decided he was telling the man nothing unless he asked.

“I will get you a library,” Miraak promised. “You will have books. And a comfortable chair. Anything you like.”

Dorian smiled and nestled closer, and Miraak could feel his heart swell at the thought of Dorian finally comfortable, finally in his natural environment and happy. Not just making the best of it or putting up with discomfort. Happy.

And this… this was no Haven, making do with what was to hand. This was a worthy fortress. Strong. Imposing. Like Miraak himself. It was no Orlesian chateau but he didn’t need one of those. He needed a working fortress, a military bastion, a citadel at the heart of his operations. And this, this Skyhold, this was all that and more.

He had a temple again. Soon to be filled with loyal worshippers once more. And he wouldn’t need Bend Will to compel people to rebuild it either. Josephine had assured him she could find funds and allies to refit it if the foundations were there. And Skyhold had more than foundations to work with, it turned out.

It turned out the keep was structurally sound. It turned out it had an undercroft where the crafting facilities could take shape. A building in the courtyard which could easily be turned into a tavern, which would eventually be called the Orb and Dragon. A beautiful courtyard garden or at least it would be once it was cleaned up and plants started growing. And best of all a round tower where Leliana planned to colonise the top floor with her rookery, and which could easily be converted into a library and research centre on the other floors.

Of course, work would need doing on all of it before they could really feel at home, but word was spreading that the Inquisition had survived and found a new home. Which likely meant it was only a matter of time before their enemies noticed too… but for now, the news brought pilgrims, traders, the curious, potential allies, new recruits… Skyhold had become quite the place to visit, and the Inquisition was growing and prospering by the day.

Not quickly enough for Dorian’s liking. Too many of them were still camping out in tents in the courtyard. Including him and Miraak. But the library was taking shape and he spent his days there overseeing matters. Somehow the mages and researchers had got it into their heads that Dorian was the one to approach with requests for book orders and the like and even Vivienne was stopping by with details of the location of books from looted Circles, insinuating Miraak would drop everything to attend to their retrieval if Dorian asked him.

That was not fair on either of them, even if Miraak had picked the requests up, looked them over and promptly called Cullen over to send some of the Inquisition Templars to retrieve them, before patting Dorian on the shoulder and telling him niid faas, fariiki, Vivienne would have the books.

Miraak wasn’t even officially in charge, for Maker’s sake. And yet things seemed to happen when he was around. Bickering between advisors would stop as they turned to him to arbitrate, and he’d listen and decide, and then it would happen. Miraak wanted something, he’d find an advisor, or possibly just call to one of the staff, and he’d be obeyed. After Haven, it seemed the hero who’d stood up to Corypheus and survived, the penitent dragon priest who’d fallen out of the Fade standing firm against the one who’d broken into it, could do no wrong. And it slowly occurred to Dorian that Cullen had heard Miraak telling Dorian he would have his library and might, just might, be the reason the mages all thought he was in charge of it.

That was worrying but he’d need to ask first and Leliana seemed the best choice for finding out. Dorian was pointed towards Josephine’s new office off the Great Hall, where the two women were deep in discussion about something.

“And there he is,” Leliana said, smiling. “Good morning, Dorian. We were just talking about you.”

Ominous.

“Whatever it was, I assure you it’s a despicable lie,” Dorian told them. “Unless it’s how handsome I am, in which case, please continue. The evidence is right before your eyes.”

Josephine sighed, and not in a romantic and adoring way either.

“My lord. We had a matter of some importance to put before you. May we have a moment of your time?”

“For you, Madame Ambassador, always!” Dorian said, smiling on the outside although his instincts were telling him something was off. “What can I do for you?”

“We merely needed your advice,” Leliana said. “About Miraak.”

About… Dorian’s smile faded, because it was one thing for the rank and file to start treating him as the back door to Miraak’s goodwill. It was something else for the bloody Council to start.

“Is there a problem?” Dorian said, frowning. “I mean, you two aren’t without influence yourselves. He’s very fond of you both, you know.”

“That is good to hear, my lord, but you know him better than anyone,” Josephine said, clearly picking her words carefully. “He listens to you more than anyone else and tells you things he would tell no one else. You see him in his most unguarded moments, and you see a side of him no one else sees. I know you are not unbiased but you see what others might miss.”

“Yes, I know,” Dorian said, almost seeing where this was going. “I’m getting this a lot. Miraak makes an expansive promise to get me a library and suddenly everyone thinks I’m running it. Miraak’s unavailable for some reason, and everyone seems to think I’m his secretary. Maker, how long before the requests for favours start?? Everyone wants the Herald’s attention and everyone thinks I’m the one to give it to them. It’s endless! And I fear it will only get worse.”

“It might,” Leliana said, concern in her eyes. “It can’t have escaped your notice that the Inquisition being run by a Council is… not the most efficient arrangement. You’ve attended meetings yourself before now.”

“Under duress, although I admit it is entertaining watching you all argue,” Dorian said, remembering the one where Miraak had confessed to having enslaved an entire island once, and the Council had been too disorganised to even arrest him. Of course, then his mind recalled afterwards, when Miraak had taken him in his arms, growled that he wanted him and pushed Dorian against the wall, and Dorian had realised that he couldn’t hold out against his own desires any longer.

Dorian’s mind wandered and it took a few moments to realise Josephine had been speaking.

“Sorry. Mind was elsewhere,” Dorian said, dragging thoughts away from fucking Miraak’s mouth. “You were saying?”

“Yes my lord,” Josephine said, and she almost managed to hide her irritation, bless her. She really was rather good at the whole diplomacy thing. “As Leliana was saying, too many of our meetings end in indecision. In stalemate. In pointless arguments that go nowhere. Time is wasted. Personal agendas become more important than the Inquisition’s overall aim. Leliana has a tendency to resort to blackmail and assassination without even considering that perhaps the target might be persuaded to help merely by offering inducements. Cassandra will decree a thing should happen but give no thought as to how it might take effect. And Cullen… have you heard the proverb that to a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail? If it cannot be razed, he sees no point in continuing, and if it can be, he doesn’t stop to think that it might serve better left standing.”

Dorian bit back a laugh, definitely seeing that one, and resolving not to get on the wrong side of Lady Josephine any time soon. The woman had a gift for verbally skewering her enemies.

“Whereas Josie here seems to think the nobility of Thedas will come running to our aid and open their coffers merely by asking nicely, and that a large army or knowledge of their secrets play no part in their eagerness to help,” Leliana said, looking pointedly at Josephine. “Don’t look at me like that, Josie, you know it’s true. Look, Dorian, the point is, the only reason we have held together so far is down to Miraak. You can tell he was a ruler before. He understands Cullen when he talks about logistics and military tactics because he led an army once himself. He can charm allies when he wants and appreciates the need to do it. And… he understands and admires what I do. He’s a man of honour but a practical one. And when he is in a meeting, things happen. Decisions get made. We don’t just get orders, we get a plan. Sometimes he comes up with it, sometimes he asks the right questions and it takes shape between us. But it happens. People seem to know to come to him with problems if they want them resolved. Alas they seem to be bringing them to you as well.”

“Yes I know, and I’m not in charge of the Inquisition, neither of us are!” Dorian sighed, before seeing the looks they were exchanging and the awkwardness in the room suddenly. And much as Dorian’s ego liked the idea, he didn’t think they were suggesting putting him in charge. “Wait. You’re thinking of Miraak as…”

“As Inquisitor. Yes,” Josephine said, inclining her head. “Dorian, the Inquisition needs him. He is the leader in all but name. We merely wish to make this official. Cullen and Cassandra both agree, and Cassandra has declared an intent to step back from decision-making once it’s done. She would be happier in the field, she says. I don’t disagree. We have not spoken to His Worship yet. But… as his declared paramour, we felt it only fair to warn you, and ask your opinion. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

Dorian couldn’t speak. His heart was thudding and his face was hot and his legs didn’t seem to work any more, and he sank into a nearby chair like some maiden with the vapours.

“You can’t be serious,” Dorian whispered. Inquisitor Miraak. His Worship, Lord Miraak, Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste. And what had Josephine called him? Official paramour? Declared paramour?

The Herald of Andraste’s official consort in all but name and Dorian wasn’t ready. Not remotely. Yes, he loved Miraak. Yes, they were close. Yes, a good time was being had. And yes Dorian knew Miraak was a powerful and influential man, had always known it, had sought him out because he’d needed the help of just such a man. Loving him had been an entirely unexpected gift. But in Haven, in their little cabin, it had seemed manageable. Small and easy to deal with. Miraak had influence yes, but he was just one Council member, he didn’t run anything. He was the imposing figurehead who had little involvement in day to day operations, and so Dorian had been able to forget that his precious pet was more than just the Inquisition’s best and most fearless warrior.

His precious pet was about to become the official leader, and while Dorian didn’t disagree either, was proud of him in fact, that fact would propel Dorian from the background to the foreground, and for once Dorian found he didn’t want the limelight. And he definitely didn’t want to be Inquisitorial consort and target for every gold-digging hanger-on in southern Thedas.

_I never signed up for this. This… I never wanted this._

It would change their relationship irrevocably and Dorian feared not for the better. Hadn’t his biggest reluctance about getting involved with Miraak in the first place been people thinking he was after Miraak’s power and influence, taking Inquisition resources for himself? And weren’t people already starting to say it, to think it? With limited resources, and with Miraak not actually in charge, the harm was limited. When all Dorian was taking was a shared bed in Miraak’s cabin instead of a single bed in some other cabin, and all Miraak was buying him were a second set of clothes, winter clothes to stop him freezing and a better staff and combat gear, people were unlikely to gossip much. With access to an entire Inquisition’s resources, what might Miraak decide to get Dorian. He’d already managed to get him the library, and Dorian knew Miraak wouldn’t stop there. Miraak showed affection by lavishing his lokaaliin with gifts, the bigger and more expensive the better. And it was only Dorian’s own willpower that would stop him.

Dorian didn’t think he could hold out forever against Miraak’s penchant for conspicuous consumption. And then what. Then the whispers would start. That Miraak was under the spell of some Tevinter magister. That Inquisition donations had gone on a gold-lined swimming pool for his maleficar concubine. That their beloved hero was either corrupt or weak, but either way tarnished by association.

Inquisitor Miraak would need to be beyond reproach, but an association with a Tevinter mage as declared lover would only bring him down. Dorian might have to… would have to…

Nausea rising in his throat as Dorian realised the only way this could work would be if Dorian was not in fact the official paramour. If he backed off for Miraak’s own good. Which would be difficult to execute, devastate Miraak possibly to the point of either being unable to function or turning into a monster, and shatter Dorian’s own heart too.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave Miraak… but being the Inquisitor’s lover? Impossible.  
And yet the world needed its Inquisitor.

“We don’t have a choice, do we,” Dorian said softly, heart breaking. “And he is the best, the only choice. The world needs him. Yes, it’s necessary, isn’t it. Ladies, you have my approval. Now, if I may be excused?”

Leliana nodded, and she could tell something was wrong, Dorian knew it, but he didn’t care to discuss it further. He needed to be away from here, away from everyone. 

Skyhold didn’t offer a lot of places for that. So Dorian went looking for the next best thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Out in the garden, already taking shape and less wild than it had been, and if Dorian had thought sunshine and plant life around him might help, it didn’t.

Miraak Inquisitor. Dorian not remotely suitable or appropriate as consort. Having to leave the love of his life for his lover’s own good, except it might not even be that. Miraak wouldn’t take that news anything other than horribly, and Dorian knew what had happened last time a lover had left him.

_Husband. Not lover. It’s not the same._

And yet Dorian knew Miraak did not remotely see it that way, and that it might be worse because Miraak acknowledged his marriage had had problems and Saering had had cause for leaving. He would not see Dorian’s departure the same way.

The problem was horrendous and unsolvable, and he couldn’t even drink himself into a stupor in the tavern because the Inquisitorial consort being seen to be a drunken waste of space would make matters worse. Razors, maybe? He remembered learning to shave and then staring at the razor and wondering what it’d be like if he just drew it across his wrist, let the blood flow, would it take the pain away with it?

Only the realisation people might think he was a blood mage if he did that had stopped him but the thoughts hadn’t really gone away, not until he reached adulthood and discovered drink and reckless sex and realised there were so many other ways of dulling the pain. Then he’d met Miraak, and it was like basking in the sun after a lifetime in the darkness, warm light telling him he was worth something, he was beautiful, he deserved the best…

Dorian could never forgive himself if that light was tainted because of him. 

So lost was he in his thoughts he wasn’t looking where he was going and nearly walked into a Chantry Mother. Oh good heavens.

“I’m so sorry, Mother, completely my fault, wasn’t looking where I was going…” His voice trailed off as he saw beyond the red and white robes and saw Mother Giselle’s dark-skinned features glaring back at him.

Oh good, the one person in Skyhold who he knew for definite didn’t approve and he’d walked straight into her.

“Messere,” Giselle said, flinty eyes boring into his. “Do you not have somewhere to be?”

Did he? Dorian had no idea. Not that he was aware of.

“There will be a ceremony out in the courtyard this afternoon,” Giselle said pointedly. “I know you have spoken to the Ambassador and Sister Nightingale. No doubt you will want your moment of reflected glory.”

Unearned glory was what she meant. A hanger-on whose worth and power derived only from what Miraak had, and Miraak’s power was about to get a very real boost. And Dorian could only feel nausea at the thought.

“It’s happening this afternoon?” Dorian whispered, his face a very picture of misery.

“Yes, it was felt putting it off would only…” Giselle had stopped because despite her personal antipathy to Dorian, she was not a bad person and had considerable reserves of sympathy for those in need, even for someone she disliked. Which was a good thing, because Dorian had just burst into tears.

“Maker, I am so sorry,” Dorian managed to get out, aware she was staring at him in horror, and he could not fault her for that. He was pretty horrified himself.

And then Giselle reached out and took his arm, leading him away.

“Come with me,” she told him, leading him through the cloisters where there was at least an illusion of privacy, and into the small chapel, still a little makeshift but worshippers were already spontaneously bringing candles and copies of the Chant, and someone had put seats in here. Giselle sat Dorian on one and settled next to him, saying nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said again, wiping his eyes. “I didn’t… you don’t need to be here for this. Maker, you don’t even like me. I worked that out.”

Giselle said nothing for a few moments, and when she did speak, it was with a great deal of care.

“You are still of my flock, Dorian Pavus. I know you are not baptised into the Orlesian Chantry, but you are still Andrastian, and you are still part of the Inquisition. Personal like or dislike should not interfere with my responsibility to you. And… it is clear you are in need of help. Tell me, Dorian. Why does your lover’s elevation trouble you so? I would have expected you to be pleased.”

Dorian shook his head, wondering just how he’d been misjudged so badly and then wondering what sort of impression he was giving that everyone thought he was some shallow, power-hungry dilettante.

“Elevation,” Dorian said softly. “That’s the word, isn’t it. He’s being elevated. And I… I am staying right where I am, despised and unworthy while he’s being elevated out of my reach.”

Surprise on Giselle’s face but she waited for him to continue.

“I’m going to lose him,” Dorian said, not looking at her. “He’s the sun around which the previously lightless moon of my life had just settled into a stable orbit and just as I’d got happy with that, that same sun is about to get warmer and now… and now it’s either going to swallow me whole or fling me into darkness. He is the most glorious man I ever met, the light in the darkness, he who will drive the forces of evil back and save us all. He is the hero we need, and he deserves every bit of the title. Despite all appearances, I’m happy for him, truly. But… we all saw what happened at Haven. Corypheus is real. The magisters who caused the Blight – real. Tevinter really did doom the world. And everyone will look at me and that’s all they’ll see. Tevinter magister, son of one anyway. An outsider. Unworthy. Then they’ll see me next to their Herald, because Maker knows Miraak will not let me be anywhere else, I will tell you that now, and all they will think is how dare that grasping maleficar be anywhere near their beloved Herald. They’ll either think he’s weak and unable to resist my wiles, or is allowing himself to be corrupted by me. You know what his main means of showing affection is, other than purely physical? Presents. Lavish gifts. I had precisely one outfit when I got here, and he spent his own clothing allowance on getting me more clothes. That legendary Avvar staff of Tyrdda Bright-Axe that arrived? We all thought he’d take it for himself, but no. He said he wanted me to have it. He went out and killed three rams in Haven’s grounds plus a giant bear from the Hinterlands so he could get the fur turned into warm clothing for me. You should see the things I turn down. I told him I hoped Skyhold had a library because I loved the idea of just getting lost in the books. He actually flinched at that… but we get here and next thing I know, not only do we have a library but people seem to think I’m in charge of it. I only have to look at something twice and next thing I know he’s tracking it down for me. And this is not anything I’m doing. He would do this for anyone he loved. Whatever he has, he feels honour-bound to share it with those under his protection, and his lover in particular is going to get doted on and spoiled. And I… it’s not even that it bothers me, but others will see this and all they will see is some shallow gold-digger using their Herald. It’ll compromise him, how can it not? And yet he can’t be compromised because the world needs him not to be. And that only leaves… the only option left is me leaving him. For his own good. Except I’m not even sure it’d be that, because it would kill me to do, and… it might destroy him just as irrevocably. He’d see it as a betrayal. He does not take betrayal well.”

Giselle had listened throughout all this, growing increasingly alarmed.

“Have you spoken to him of any of this,” Giselle said, voice gentler than Dorian had ever heard it. Dorian shook his head.

“What would be the point. He doesn’t listen. He’s the Herald, the opinions of lesser beings don’t matter to him. They just flow off him. He won’t even see the danger until it’s too late.”

“How will he see it at all if you do not tell him,” Giselle said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He is attached to you to the point of unreason, but it is the one thing I have found him completely unreasonable on. He would take no joy in seeing you unhappy. You should talk to him. As it is, you are seeing a future and seeing only darkness and misery. You are forgetting the future can be changed. What you are seeing is not the only option. There might be a path to happiness for you both yet.”

“With respect, Mother, I’m not seeing it,” Dorian sighed. “All I can see is me losing him. I don’t care about my own reputation. I’m used to being an outsider. But I can’t bear the thought of his being tarnished. Not by me. I can’t – won’t – bear it. I’d sooner lose my own life than harm him.”

He wasn’t looking at her which meant he missed her flinching at his words, horror in her eyes as she shook her head, lips thinning in a determined look as Mother Giselle saw the real Dorian Pavus… and realised maybe the Maker had engineered this meeting today.

“It will not come to that,” Giselle told him, rubbing his back. “Listen, child. Do nothing rash or irrevocable. Not yet. He will be made Inquisitor today, yes. But beyond that, the future is not certain. Do not be so quick to decide you know better than the Maker what will happen… or that we are powerless to prevent disaster. Talk to him, Dorian. Tell him what you told me. He needs to know the depth of your fears… and of your devotion.”

Dorian did look up at her then, trying to square this with Miraak telling him she disapproved.

“Depth of my… hold on, Miraak seemed to think you thought I was in it to line my own pockets and leech off his power!”

“Yes,” Giselle said, lowering her head. “I did think that. But I have misjudged you, messere. You do a credible job of pretending you care little for anything but pleasure, you know. But I see it now. Underneath you care more deeply than many devout Andrastians. And your devotion to the Herald is real. Messere, you should attend the ceremony. Whether at his side or just watching from the crowd. But be there for him. And after… talk to him. If he will go out of his way to feed and clothe refugees who are strangers to him, what will he not do for the happiness of the man he loves.”

“That part is precisely what worries me,” Dorian sighed, but he looked at Mother Giselle, a woman with a lot of influence over the Inquisition rank and file, a woman he’d previously believed an implacable foe, suddenly changing her mind in one conversation. A woman he’d written off as a permanently disapproving old biddy suddenly encouraging him. People’s opinions might change. People’s opinions of _him_ might change, and he could influence in what direction. 

It belatedly occurred to Dorian that if he spent all his public waking hours taking nothing seriously and pretending he didn’t care, people might start thinking he genuinely didn’t, and if he was going to be the official consort of the Inquisitor, people thinking he was less than devoted to Miraak might be a disaster.

“Mother, I rather think we have both misjudged each other rather badly,” Dorian said, getting to his feet and bowing. “Thank you. You’ve… you’ve given me much to think about. Yes, I’ll be there. I don’t think they’ve actually told Miraak they’re offering the job yet. Not that he’ll turn it down… but I think he will notice my absence from the coronation. And… you’re right. I’m letting my own fears overwhelm me. It might not happen. It might never happen. And I do know one thing, Miraak will be a better Inquisitor if he’s happy and loved and for that he needs me to be there. If it harms his reputation… I need to do better, don’t I. I need to be out there demonstrating I’m good for him. That I’m giving as much as I’m taking. I don’t suppose I can stop people gossiping but I can at least give them some accurate information to gossip about.”

“Accuracy has rarely influenced gossip yet,” Giselle said wryly as she got to her feet and inclined her head. “But it is a good start. Maker be with you, Dorian Pavus.”

“And you,” Dorian told her, before leaving for the courtyard. He wasn’t exactly conventionally religious, and he certainly wasn’t swayed by all this Andraste, Bride of the Maker nonsense they had down south. He had his own growing suspicions about Andraste, but they could wait. But he did believe in his own way that the Maker was watching. That the Maker would intervene – had intervened by freeing Miraak from the Fade and giving him another chance… and sending him to Dorian.

If the Maker had sent him Miraak and charged Dorian with taking care of the man who was going to save the world, who was Dorian to argue. Other people’s opinions would have to take care of themselves. All Dorian could do was do the right thing, and that one conversation, bringing understanding from someone he’d never thought would give it, had persuaded him that just disappearing or walking away wasn’t it.

Miraak needed him, would need him more than ever. And Dorian would not let him down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Dorian emerged into the Great Hall to find the three advisors gathered, Cullen with some sort of ornamental greatsword with a dragon curled round the hilt. Dorian hoped it was ornamental anyway. It was too nice to take into an actual fight.

Of course, they were arguing.

“Look, if his own partner’s not happy about it, are we sure this is a good idea?” Cullen was saying.

“Cassandra is finding him as we speak, it is too late to back out now!” Josephine gasped. “Anyway, Dorian agreed it was necessary. He said Miraak was the best, the only candidate.”

“It didn’t meet his eyes,” Leliana said softly. “Dorian looked so desperately unhappy and had to sit down as we told him. He agrees because it is necessary but he hates the idea. You can tell.”

“If he will not tell us why, there is little we can do,” Josephine said softly, concern in her own eyes… but what choice did they have at this point?

No, no, no, it shouldn’t be like this! Dorian could only despair at his own tortured misery managing to undermine Miraak before he’d started in the job. He’d need to act. And quickly.

“Then perhaps I should explain myself, hmm?” Dorian said, sauntering over and trying to look casual. “As a matter of fact, I wholeheartedly support the idea of Inquisitor Miraak, not just because he has the potential to be the greatest hero of this age, and may I remind you this age has already given us Lyra Surana and Marian Hawke. Not just because he took on Corypheus in a one-on-one combat and managed to force Corypheus to flee after stealing a chunk of his power to boot. Not just because of the godlike power at his personal fingertips. But primarily because you three running the show without him there to bash heads together is going to doom us all. Look! You’re doing it right now!”

Awkward looks and Cullen had gone a bit pink, but no one was actually contradicting him. A good start.

Leliana broke the silence, frowning.

“You looked like you’d been punched when we told you,” Leliana said, eyes narrowing. “You looked like you’d been told of his death, not his promotion.”

“Purely selfish on my part, I assure you,” Dorian said, shrugging, not willing to admit how close to the mark she was. “I am more than happy for him to be Inquisitor. But I was not ready to be the Inquisitor’s consort. You realise he will settle for nothing less, don’t you. This is no casual involvement on his part. No purely physical gratification. Miraak’s committed himself emotionally, and once he has done that, there is little chance of escape. I know, it terrifies me as well. Thankfully, he is capable of toning it down on a day to day level. We’ve agreed he can spend up to ten minutes a day, once a day, telling me of the true depth of his adoration, and the rest of the time we’ve agreed to let it be and just enjoy each other’s company. We know what we have, we don’t need to spend all day discussing it.”

“Ten minutes a day?” Cullen gasped, shaking his head. “Maker, that’s generous of you. Look, it’s no secret he’s smitten with you, and no secret whatsoever that he wants a serious relationship with you. I don’t know about the formalities and I don’t greatly care, but I do know you’ll need a security detail on a par with his and I’ve told the men you’re to be treated with respect and not given any trouble. Josephine tells me you probably don’t get a Your Worship title though.”

“Paramours do not share in the titles of their lovers, but they do benefit from the social rank,” Josephine said, consulting her clipboard. “Forgive me, my lord, I assumed that as Tevinter nobility yourself, you would have no difficulty adapting. We’ve already taken the liberty of moving your personal effects into the Inquisitor’s quarters, and I’d allocated a clothing allowance to cover you both. There are catalogues in the quarters from both gentlemen’s outfitters and furnishing suppliers from Val Royeaux, simply let me know what you would like to order.”

“What, for me or are you letting me decorate the entire quarters too?” Dorian asked, surprised. Josephine actually sighed.

“Many times I have tried to engage His Worship on the matter of what heraldry and furnishing he wishes Skyhold to have, and every time he has changed the subject or left,” Josephine sighed. “Also I have gone to great trouble to source the finest clothing options befitting his station and all he will wear is those robes! Does he not care what he looks like?? Or that the keep must be a display of Inquisition influence and power or we are nothing?? Forgive me, it is… it is very frustrating, my lord.”

Dorian, who had heard Miraak’s complaints along the lines of ‘we have a war to fight and Josephine keeps on at me about the bloody curtains? Can’t she pick something??’, just smiled sympathetically.

“Leave it with me,” Dorian promised. “I will talk with him. Give it a few weeks and Skyhold shall be outfitted in a style befitting the Herald of Andraste. I might even be able to get Miraak outfitted, although I’m sure he’ll hate it.”

Josephine brightened up, gratitude writ large all over her face.

“My lord, thank you, I am more grateful than words can say. If you do not mind me asking… why didn’t you want a consort role? You are already taking well to it.”

Dorian closed his eyes, remembering all his earlier fears, and they hadn’t entirely gone away. They were just a little less sharp.

“Because I’m Tevinter and a magister’s son at that,” Dorian sighed. “I am everything the South’s been taught to fear. And here I am, yoked to the Herald of Andraste in the most intimate way possible. Surely you can see how that looks? How long before the comments start? The rumours? Devout Southerners thinking I’m defiling their Herald by association. And then there’s the hangers-on. Everyone and their dog wanting a piece of the Herald and trying to use me to do it. It’s already starting! It’s… how can you think this is a good idea.”

Surprise on all their faces, and then Josephine’s expression turned into a truly fierce one that did not bode well for anyone, and suddenly Dorian felt rather sorry for anyone who thought the Ambassador was a pushover.

“My lord, if anyone attempts to ask you for any favour or entangle you in something you do not feel appropriate or within your remit, you must inform me at once and tell the asker to direct their request via me. All such things from Inquisition allies must come through my office and I will decide the most appropriate course of action.”

“And if they’re in the Inquisition and taking the piss, send them to me, I’ll have words,” Cullen promised. “You’re not a back door to the Inquisitor, you’re his much needed emotional support. Honestly, it was never intended for this job to involve celibacy. We knew there’d be someone at some point and he’s picked you, for better or worse, so we’ll just have to deal with it. I still don’t know what he sees in you, but the Herald’s taste in partners isn’t my concern. Keeping them alive and out of enemy hands is. At least you’re not Orlesian, I suppose.”

Leliana gasped in horror, although Dorian noticed the outrage didn’t quite reach her eyes, which were twinkling in amusement. Good on her.

“As for your reputation, leave that with me,” Josephine said. “You’ve conducted yourself with honour so far, and I have confidence you will continue to do so. Do not worry about our allies. I don’t know all the details of your past, but I have established you’re not in contact with your family, you were committed enough to doing the right thing to turn on your former mentor when he was destroying time itself, your closest friends in Tevinter are notably anti-Venatori and that when you had the Herald’s life in your hands in that Dark Future, you went above and beyond the call of duty to keep him safe and bring him home. I can work with that, messere. You play down your own devotion to the Herald but we know it is there.”

“And the Inquisition will know it too,” Leliana promised, looking knowingly at Dorian. “You feared having to let Miraak go for his own good, didn’t you.”

Damn that woman for knowing far too much.

“Maybe?” Dorian hazarded and Leliana rolled her eyes. 

“I knew it,” Leliana sighed. “Ugh, Dorian, as if we’d let it get to that stage! Miraak deserves to be happy, and so do you! Don’t worry. When I am done, the world will see you two as I do.”

“How is that exactly?” Dorian asked, almost afraid to ask.

“They’ll think you’re adorable together,” Leliana said, grinning at him and Dorian knew he must be blushing by now, and thank the Maker for one of Cullen’s men running up to announce Seeker Cassandra had found him and was bringing him up now.

That took the attention off him and he could merely follow the advisors out and deal with his feelings without worrying about what they were thinking.

He should perhaps have talked to them in the first place. Or Miraak. Perhaps Dorian needed to get used to the idea that he was no longer alone in the world. That others might help. That Miraak would definitely help him, and Miraak had staff now. Staff who cared about Miraak’s wellbeing, clearly, and who saw no upside in Miraak losing his boyfriend.

Dorian had allies. Dorian wasn’t used to allies. Dorian was used to it just being him. Of not asking for help because he didn’t want to impose. He wasn’t used to his boyfriend’s reputation being at risk from him and those whose job it was to manage such things all uniting to do their jobs by… dealing with the risk not the relationship.

He’d spent so long being told his desires and needs were shameful and unsuitable, he’d ended up believing it himself. He wasn’t used to being accepted. He’d only just got accustomed to Miraak loving him. He wasn’t used to the rest of the world being anything other than hostile. But here it was, not being.

Happy. Dorian Pavus could be happy. He wasn’t used to that. He hadn’t allowed himself to believe it was even possible. But it was. 

Not bothering to hide the smile, Dorian followed the others out. Time to admire and adore his partner. Dorian could never get tired of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's relationship with the Inquisitor in canon doesn't kick off until after the ceremony, with the effect that Dorian knows what he's getting into. Here's Dorian just flung into it overnight and realising that the prospect is terrifying. Thought it might be fun to have him... not cope. At least until he starts opening up and talking to people.
> 
> Plus I thought it might be nice for Mother Giselle to realise a bit earlier she's completely misjudged him.
> 
> Next up is the ceremony! Miraak gets to have a fine time, then gets to sweep Dorian off his feet, what's not to love.


	18. Coronation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition requires a leader and who better than the one who has already been leading it? Miraak's never turned power down in his life and is happy to take the job... but his first official acts revolve not aroud Corypheus but his newfound family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miraak's officially leader! Don't let it go to your head, Miraak. Also implied smut but nothing too explicit.

“You wanted to see me?” 

About three different Inquisition soldiers had approached him nervously, telling him Lady Cassandra needed to speak with him at once. And then not content with that, Blackwall and Vivienne had separately stopped by to pass the same message on, Blackwall shrugging and saying he knew no more than that, and Vivienne telling him it was clearly important and he really ought to see to it, darling.

There was no real arguing with that tone, so despite the thousand and one things that needed doing, Miraak had left the Inquisition to it and gone to find Cassandra. 

She was waiting near the gateway, watching today’s arrivals flood in – merchants bringing goods for trade, couriers bringing supplies, and visitors of all kinds, nobles and commoners alike, all come to see for themselves what the Inquisition was up to… and if the threat from Corypheus was real.

There were many in Skyhold who’d seen him invade Haven firsthand, and they would no doubt be more than happy to share stories. Miraak had eavesdropped on a few, sitting incognito in the tavern with Bull, hearing them tell of how Haven had been destroyed and how they’d barely escaped with their lives before Lord Miraak had gone out alone to fight him, and finally seen him off.

The praise and adoration everyone seemed to have for him when they didn’t know he was listening pleased Miraak greatly, even if Bull had told him not to let it go to his head, reputations could get worse as well as better. Which was true. But Miraak’s clearly had some way to fall before that ever became an issue. For now, he was hero of the hour and he liked it.

What he didn’t like was Dorian upset about something and refusing to talk about it. Miraak would creep into the tent and tell him about all the stories, and Dorian would smile and stroke his face and tell him he was proud of him, it was well deserved, he truly was the hero they all needed… but it didn’t reach his eyes and Miraak could tell. And Dorian would not talk about it.

Something was eating away at his beloved and he could do nothing and it bothered him. So he threw it into work instead, into helping out. Into checking in on his people. Greeting visiting nobles, mask on for that of course. None of the Orlesians removed theirs after all. Welcoming merchants. Making sure the mages were all right. Discreetly ensuring the library had everything it needed and pointing all the enquiries to Dorian, while at the same time making arrangements with Fiona on who’d be the best person to appoint as Deputy Chief Librarian for when Dorian wasn’t available. Admittedly he hadn’t actually asked Dorian if he wanted the Chief job yet but he’d wanted something to do, hadn’t he? He’d wanted a library, yes? In Miraak’s mind, this made perfect sense.

It kept him occupied. Except now Cassandra wanted a word.

“You are watching our new arrivals, I see. Every day more come. We have become a place of pilgrimage.”

“Our story has travelled well,” Miraak said, proud of the results. “They bring skills, coin, information, aid. We will make use of it all. This is no less than a war… and I intend to win it.”

“You are never short of self-regard, are you,” Cassandra said, frowning and Miraak just laughed.

“I am known for it, ask anyone,” Miraak purred. “Alistair in particular has some extremely choice words on the matter, mostly rude ones. I don’t mind. It’s no worse than what my brother Halbard used to call me. Alistair’s here and he’s loyal, that’s the main thing.”

“You truly do see him as a brother, don’t you,” Cassandra said thoughtfully. “You don’t think he’ll leave once he has rescued his order and his wife?”

“He might and he’s free to do so,” Miraak shrugged. “He will still be my brother.”

Alistair was already growing quite proficient at the Thu’um, and he and Dorian were both getting better at conversational Dovahzul, even if Dorian’s accent was still hysterical. Alistair though, Alistair’s voice shifted into a deeper, more resonant register every time he spoke the language. Sossedov los mul indeed. It alarmed Alistair, but Miraak just saw his brother growing into himself and could feel nothing other than proud.

“Yes, that’s true,” Cassandra said, sadness in her own eyes. “Whatever happens, our much-loved siblings remain in our hearts. But that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about. It can’t have escaped your attention that if word has reached these people’s ears that the Inquisition is here and resurgent, it will have reached Corypheus too. He will be planning a reprisal.”

“Let him,” Miraak said, glancing proudly at his formidable new strunmah. “We have the fortifications and numbers to hold out here. If a siege situation resulted, I would be able to get word to Caer Bronach. If the Reachmen can establish a portal link between there and Markarth, on the other side of the world, they can arrange one between there and Skyhold to supply us. Maybe I will write to Liriel and ask if this can be done. It will assist with requisition efforts in the meantime.”

Liriel had successfully led her half of the Inquisition to Crestwood with barely any casualties, and Caer Bronach was now officially an Inquisition Keep with Charter of Leliana’s spy corps in charge of it. No mention of a Bann Madanach anywhere, and while the Fereldan Crown was not happy, they didn’t have the resources to take over themselves. Situation stable for now. And with Skyhold taking shape, and Reach medicine making swift work of healing the injured, Inquisition personnel were rejoining them daily, spouses being reunited, children seeing their parents again, Inquisition dependents returning home. Miraak was pleased.

Cassandra looked at him, surprised and then nodded.

“I would not have considered a portal link. I make no secret of my distrust for Liriel and her… allies. But she saved many lives after Haven with her healing magic and personally went to track you down when she did not have to. She has also protected our most vulnerable and given them sanctuary when they needed it, and did not have to do that either. I see you were wise to trust her. I will be honest, Miraak. Many of your decisions, I have questioned either your morals or your sanity. But… they have worked out. You know what you are doing. You are a formidable foe… and maybe the only one with the skills to truly fight Corypheus. This is far beyond the war we anticipated, Miraak. For a foe like Corypheus, a man who walked in the Maker’s City if only for a time, who has power we can barely comprehend… our only hope of survival is to trust in the Maker, and to trust in the aid he has sent us. Maybe it was not the Tevinter Dragon Cult you fought, but all you have told me of Solstheim’s Dragon Cult has convinced me it was no better. It may in fact have been worse. You did the right thing standing against them. And it is my firm belief the Maker intervened to make sure you appeared here, now, at this time, to help us.”

“You think so?” Miraak asked, stopping in his tracks, glancing up at her. They’d been walking up the stairs to Skyhold’s main keep entrance, and she was a couple of steps ahead of him. Odd to see her, or anyone else save Bull, from this angle. 

Miraak obviously had also suspected Akatosh had had a hand in rescuing him from the Fade in some way, had wondered if maybe this was destiny playing out, his Divine Father giving him another chance. But it was news to hear Cassandra thought this.

“I do,” Cassandra said quietly. “You are meant to be here, meant to be the one to stand against Corypheus. It was you that drew him out, your deeds that convinced him you were his rival.”

Miraak’s hand went to the pouch at his belt with the orb. He didn’t like leaving it unattended even if no one else could use it. 

“No one else could have taken the orb off him,” Miraak said. “Save maybe Liriel. You’d need the Thu’um.”

“Liriel is not that creature’s rival, nor for that matter is Alistair,” Cassandra told him. “Liriel is an outsider. Alistair is respected but not a leader. Corypheus went for you because you were the true threat. The one whose story mirrors his but who has chosen a better path. You the penitent sinner seeking to set things right, to use your gifts for good. Corypheus the one corrupted by the Fade, who compels his followers or uses their worst instincts. You who survived the Fade unharmed and still whole, who inspires the best in us all and who we follow freely because we see the Maker working through you.”

Miraak mentally thanked Akatosh he was wearing the mask because he was sure he was blushing. As it was, to hear Cassandra saying this??? She’d tried to have him arrested! He didn’t realise she even liked him!

“You truly think that?” he asked, not able to keep the surprise out of his voice. Cassandra actually smiled.

“Does that surprise you?” Cassandra asked, turning and resuming the climb. “Maybe we have not always got along on a personal level. Maybe you are frequently insufferable. But your heart is in the right place, your leadership decisions have worked out, and your strength, courage and honour are apparent to all. The Maker picks the right person for the job at hand. It is not required that everybody like him. Only that we follow.”

“Follow where?” Miraak asked, because where were they going? Why had it gone rather quiet? And… why had an entire Inquisition downed tools and gathered in the courtyard, all watching him expectantly.

“Follow the leader He has picked out for us,” Cassandra said, and Miraak looked up to see Cullen approaching and nodding respectfully to him as he passed, and then behind him Leliana approaching with a greatsword in hand. An ornate one with a dragon entwined round the hilt. Apt. And behind her, at the Keep entrance…

Several Chantry priestesses gathered in a group, Josephine Montilyet smiling at him and again that respectful nod, and with her, leaning against the doorframe, Dorian. Who was smiling proudly at him and blew him a kiss.

It really didn’t feel right reciprocating with the mask on, but Miraak placed a fist to his chest in response and Dorian’s eyes twinkled that bit more. His amatus was proud. Well of course, there was much to be proud of, but this had the sense of a formal ceremony. One he’d not been party to at all, but that seemed focused on him.

“Cassandra, what…” Miraak began, and then Leliana stood to attention, lowered her head and holding the sword out. Given the way she was holding it easily in her hands, it seemed likely this was a hollow ceremonial blade, not a real one, but it looked beautiful.

“You are that creature’s rival by both grace of the Maker and because of what you have done, and we know it. All of us,” Cassandra said, standing aside and motioning for him to approach Leliana. “The Inquisition requires a leader. It has long required a leader, and who better than the one who was already leading it.”

Miraak turned sharply to her, because she surely wasn’t suggesting… She was suggesting it, wasn’t she. Leliana looked up, artful little smile on her face as she stepped forward, holding out the sword to him, and the crowd’s murmuring intensified. Cullen was with them now, arms folded and grinning up at him. Josephine smiling from the keep gateway. He’d seen Varric and Blackwall in the crowd too, thought he’d got a glimpse of Sera. Bull had stirred out of the tavern, and Alistair had made his way to the front too, Warden armour gleaming as he watched Miraak, actually smiling, most likely because the leadership question had been settled and it was being given to someone other than him. And Vivienne was up on the keep’s balcony, hands on the rail and clearly pleased.

And of course Dorian, watching expectantly, out of view of most of the crowd but where Miraak couldn’t miss him. His amatus, his lokaaliin, here for this and clearly approving.

That meant more to Miraak than any adoring crowd. A crowd of adoring worshippers – but of course. Only right they recognise his greatness. But Dorian? His amatus? Looking on with pride in his eyes?

That meant something. That meant the one he adored above all others was pleased. The awe of a thousand worshippers meant nothing in comparison to that look on Dorian’s face.

“Me?” Miraak asked, just to be clear on this.

“You,” Cassandra confirmed, bowing at the neck and Miraak felt it then, a shiver down his spine and a sense of destiny, rightness, Akatosh finally confirming just why he’d been gifted the Thu’um in the first place.

“Me,” Miraak said, not troubling to keep the pleasure out of his voice, or damp it down, and the reverberation travelled to all present as he held out his hands to Leliana to take the sword from her.

Leliana held out the sword, smile on her face and pride in her own eyes, and Miraak felt the weight of the sword in his hands as she placed it in them. Sure enough, this thing was hollow, a soft copper blade that would last all of three seconds in a real fight. But it looked the part and that was what mattered. It also meant Miraak could hold the thing upright in one hand and look impressively strong in the process.

Miraak glanced down at the crowd, who’d inhaled en masse as he’d taken the sword, all seeming to know what this was about. No doubt they’d be expecting some sort of speech.

“I’m honoured,” he said, raising his voice and letting it reverberate at full power. “You know my story. You know I fell out of the Fade from the prison I was held in after Corypheus broke it open, and fell into the Inquisition’s arms. Whether it be by chance or the Maker’s will, I leave for history to decide. But what I do know is this. Corypheus broke open the Fade and in so doing, made it possible for me to return. His malice led to my rebirth. He opened the gates of Hell and I rode out of them, and he has done nothing but stand in my way! He assaulted my strunmah, our home, killed our fellows, destroyed all in his path, and in the end I was forced to go out alone to convince him that the path he had chosen led only to one place. To me, and to the inevitable fight that will leave only one of us victorious. Inquisition, it will not be him!”

Miraak thrust the sword into the air and watched, breathless and pleased, adrenaline coursing through his veins, watching in pride and satisfaction as the entire Inquisition roared its approval.

“Have our people been told?” Cassandra called to Josephine.

“They have. And soon, the world!” Josephine called back, pride and satisfaction all over her own voice.

“Commander, will they follow?” Cassandra called down to Cullen, and if this part hadn’t been rehearsed, Miraak would be very surprised. How long had this been in the works without them telling him exactly?

“Inquisition, will you follow?”

The cheering only intensified.

“Will you fight?”

Of course they would.

“And will we triumph?”

The resulting roar could have taken Skyhold’s roof off and Cullen drew his own blade and pointed it at Miraak.

“Your Herald! Your leader! Your Inquisitor!”

Miraak felt the shiver of arousal, of delight, shoot down his spine and pool in his groin, and without even thinking, he threw the sword into the air, caught it with his magic, flipped it upside down and cast a glowing halo of flames about it and an illusory eye to make it look like the Inquisition symbol, holding it above them for all to see and reminding them that they picked a mage for their leader, and not some bookish intellectual either. They picked a warrior.

_Harknir Hrongarsson, your son is a fighter. And I will win this one._

Harknir Hrongarsson didn’t answer. Apparently this was well beyond his dead father’s experience. Miraak could only feel relief at that. And now all that was left was to decide what to do with this sword. Hmm. Yes, the empty space in between Vivienne’s balcony and the gabled roof. That’d do.

Carefully, and drawing on the orb to do it, he levitated the sword all the way to the gabled roof and made it heat up, metal melting and melding with the stonework, permanently sealing sword to stone. A few flares of magic, and the stone itself charred, Inquisition eye and flames seared alongside the sword, spells of permanence ensuring the glow would remain and light up the sky each night for as long as Skyhold endured, Miraak’s badge of office forever welded to his strunmah.

Miraak lowered his arms, saluted the ecstatic crowd and made his way inside, ignoring Cassandra’s tutting. If an adoring crowd was in front of you, why not give them what they wanted. 

Dorian was waiting for him at the doorway, still smiling, and Miraak finally removed the mask, shaking his hair loose and holding out his arms, and Dorian went into them without hesitation, the sadness of the last few days gone, it seemed.

“Are you pleased?” Miraak asked, because of course it mattered that his amatus was happy. How could it not? He’d re-order the whole of Skyhold if it meant Dorian smiled like that again.

“Ecstatic,” Dorian breathed. “My god, Miraak, you were wonderful out there. I’ve never been so proud to be associated with you. Did you know we have new quarters now? Josephine tells me they’re lovely! No more tents for us! The door’s at the back of the hall, then it’s up the stairs to the top of the tower. Alistair gets the room on the floor below, but we’re right at the top. And Josephine promised me I could handle the decorations and wardrobe if I wanted. Including the keep’s decorations, seeing as you seem to want to run away whenever the topic comes up.”

“Yes. Fine. Do whatever you like, just stay in budget,” Miraak said, more than keen to get that job to someone who actually gave a fuck about curtains and wall-hangings. Apparently Dorian did.

“I will do that, my Inquisitor,” Dorian breathed in his ear. “You know, I thought you couldn’t get more attractive than you already were. I’ve never been so pleased to be proven wrong. Amatus… if you’re not busy…”

Dorian was grinding into him, arousal very obvious, and Miraak looked down at him and smiled.

“I can hardly leave you in that state, can I, lokaali,” Miraak purred. “Yes, let’s find these quarters. And then…”

It occurred to him that before any activity occurred, he should probably ask Dorian if he actually wanted to be his official paramour. 

“This will make it official, you know,” Miraak murmured to him. “Once you’re ensconced in those quarters and spent the night with me there, once you live there as my lover… you’ll be my official paramour. Consort in all but name. Are you ready for that? Is that truly what you want? You’ve been off all week. Something has been wrong. Are you… do you still want this?”

Dorian had stopped grinding, hand to Miraak’s cheek, backing off a little as the smile faded, and then Dorian nodded.

“Yes,” said Dorian softly. “And it’s not just because of the new title. Or the impressive display out there which I notice you came up with on the fly as well. But because… because the world will need you to go out there and be a hero, which I know you’re more than capable of. But you’re still a man with needs under all that, and not just sexual ones either. You need someone who will take care of you. Who you can take the mask off for and just be yourself with. Who knows and loves Miraak, not just the Inquisitor. I’m proud of you, you know that, and having the Inquisitor in my bed is incredibly arousing, of course it is. But that’s not who I fell in love with. I fell in love with the man who in that Dark Future was going mad from pain and fear and who placed his life in my hands and trusted me to get him home. I fell in love with the man who took his mask off just for the asking and let me see his face, even though it was intimate for him. I’d want to fuck the Herald-Inquisitor quite badly regardless, I think. But the Miraak who feels safe enough to curl up in my arms and trusts me enough to let me take care of him… that’s who I love. And I don’t know about you, but I do not let my loved ones go into danger alone. Yes, Miraak, I’ll be your official partner. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Miraak couldn’t help but smile, joy and happiness flooding his system, and although he’d not thought Dorian would say no, just lately he’d started to wonder. But he’d said yes. He’d agreed and seemed to show no regret about any of it.

Later, they’d talk and Dorian would admit what had really been going on for him, and Miraak would be simultaneously appalled and angry and end up tersely spelling out to Dorian that Miraak’s reputation was Miraak’s problem not Dorian’s and that he had a spymaster and ambassador to take care of it for a reason, Dorian, and don’t you ever consider leaving me for my own good again because that is NOT your fucking decision to make, dammit, and for the love of Bormahu will you please, please, share your goddamn problems and worries with me because it is my bloody job to help with these things, I am your damn partner.

“Miraak, you shouldn’t have to spend vital Inquisition resources on-” Dorian began once Miraak had paused for breath, and Miraak’s finger reached his lips, pushing him back on to the pillows.

“I am Inquisitor, Dorian, do not tell me what is and isn’t worth spending resources on,” Miraak hissed at him. “Kyne, Dorian, if you had told me all this three days ago, I would have had Josephine and Leliana in a meeting with us working out a plan!”

“I know,” Dorian said meekly. “I’m sorry. I told some of this to them earlier and all three of your advisors promised they’d take care of problems. Miraak, can I warn you of something? If you get on the wrong side of Josephine, she’s _terrifying._ ”

“Why, was she fucked off with you as well,” Miraak growled… and then a smile flickered at his lips and he laughed and kissed Dorian’s forehead, and Dorian sensed he was forgiven.

“Tell me these things in future, fariiki,” Miraak murmured. “We look after each other, yes? You take care of me. I ease your worries and make problems go away. Dorian, I swear, I will never be angry at you for telling me the truth. If something is wrong, please tell me. Saering used to bottle things up as well, and look how that ended. Please, Dorian. Don’t shut me out.” 

Dorian pulled Miraak into his arms, head resting against that firm chest of Miraak’s, hating upsetting Miraak but glad he was still here. 

What the future held, Dorian didn’t know, but Miraak was Inquisitor, the world hadn’t ended, he still had his boyfriend, got to be official partner no less and… it was fine. The Inquisition had his back. Miraak still loved him and wasn’t letting him go. 

Dorian remembered Miraak’s words to him on the Storm Coast. That the part of his life involving loveless assignations and Dorian being left alone again afterwards was over now. Dorian had had trouble believing that for the longest time, although he’d desperately wanted to.

Dorian believed it now. Miraak was officially someone and his first act had been to ask Dorian to be officially his someone. And here he was, sleeping in the official quarters and given carte blanche to decorate as he would because this was his home too. Because Miraak adored him and loved him and wanted him to be happy.

Dorian snuggled into Miraak’s arms, tears in his eyes and a smile on his face and about ready to die from happiness. Him and Miraak against the world. And Dorian found himself with every confidence that the world wouldn’t give them any trouble.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The morning after brought breakfast and Dorian remembering that before all yesterday’s excitement he’d been going to ask if Miraak was really putting him in charge of the library.

“It was being considered,” Miraak said, tucking in to his nug bacon and scrambled eggs with elfroot. “Why, do you not want the job?”

“I’d like to be asked, not just have it dumped on me!” Dorian protested. “Miraak, if you want me to open up more about my own problems, you need to get better about asking me before making decisions that affect me as well!”

“I don’t recall being asked if I wished to be Inquisitor before realising a ceremony was under way either,” Miraak said, taking a bit from his toast.

“Who else were they going to ask,” Dorian sighed. “And you were never going to say no. That would have required you to be the quiet, unassuming selfless type who abhors the limelight.”

Miraak had the nerve to look wounded, and he managed it for three whole seconds before laughing and returning to his food.

“Of course they picked me,” Miraak said cheerfully. “They should have done it back in Haven, saved us all a lot of trouble. But never mind me. Dorian. Beloved. Lokaaliin. You were desperate to get your hands on a library. Did you want the Chief Librarian role?”

“I… no,” Dorian admitted. “No, I do not. I want a library but not the hassle of running it. Or dealing with people constantly wanting books. Also, what if you need me? You’ll be out in the field at some point, won’t you? Maybe I won’t be needed all the time but won’t you want my company out there?”

Miraak stopped eating, before putting his plate down, wiping his mouth, taking Dorian’s hand in his and nodding. 

“It’s true. I would miss your company on the road. All right. I will speak with Fiona and make alternative arrangements. After all, my official partner can request whatever books he wishes. Solas has already put a list in and Vivienne’s traced a great many former Circle tomes, and Fiona’s people are retrieving their own caches. Josephine has taken donations too, and says she has contacts who can obtain more. If you need something, fariiki, say the word. It will be found for you. Did you have some research in mind?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I need tomes on Imperium history, specifically the Liberalum and a few others I’ve got noted down somewhere. I have checked existing stocks, but most of the collection seems to originate from Chantry collections. Meaning if you want to know if Divine Galatea took a shit on Sunday, there’s a dozen books with opinions, but anything on the Imperium and all I found was the Malefica Imperio. Trite Chantry propaganda.”

Ouch. Poor Dorian. Miraak promised it would be done, because of course his lokaal must be missing his home. All the same, it sounded as if he had something specific in mind.

“So what were you after, fariiki?”

“As to that, now that we know Corypheus is our foe and real, no less, it might be possible to trace his lineage, find out who he was.”

“You can do that??” Miraak asked, impressed. He’d expected all traces of that to have been lost a long time ago.

“Oh absolutely,” Dorian promised. “You have to remember, before the coming of Andraste and everyone converting, being descended from one of the magisters who touched the Golden City wasn’t a source of shame, it was a source of pride. Noble families with that ancestry didn’t trouble to hide it. Until Hessarian made us all convert and it all had to be hidden away, of course. But it means the evidence wasn’t all destroyed in the First Blight like you might think. It’s out there. Not easy to find, but it’s there. Especially if you know where to look. And I know exactly where to look. I just need your ambassador to make contact with the Grand Archivist at the Magisterium’s library and bribe the man to send a copy. Unless of course you think Leliana’s people might be able to steal one.”

“I’ll ask,” Miraak said thoughtfully. “It might be useful. Don’t worry, lokaali. You’ll get your books.”

Dorian beamed at him, and Miraak decided he really did enjoy being Inquisitor if it meant he got to do things like this for Dorian. Finishing his breakfast and downing his tea, he shifted nearer Dorian, who never really ate much in the mornings and had finished his meal some time ago, placing a hand on his chest and stroking it downwards.

“Let me do something for you,” Miraak breathed in his ear. “We don’t need to be anywhere just yet, hmm?”

“You are a very bad man, you know that?” Dorian laughed, reaching out for him. Miraak knew. But Dorian wasn’t resisting and Miraak wanted him and… let the rest of the world wait. Dorian had spent the last week or so depressed and miserable and afraid he was going to lose Miraak. Time to make it up to him and demonstrate to Dorian that he was cherished and loved now, and need never be alone again.

Dorian’s fingers in his hair, forcing his head down, was a very small price to pay indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

An excellent first day in charge so far. The war room was up and running and Miraak was able to assign his advisors tasks to be getting on with. There’d been a slight hiccup with Josephine looking at Dorian’s book list of Tevinter lore and pointing out half of it was banned by the Orlesian Chantry, and why did he need the Tevinter Chant of Light and all these sealed military reports from a certain year of the Tevinter calendar, and then Cullen of all people had snapped bugger the Chantry, if it might be useful, we need it. Miraak once again found himself agreeing with Cullen… but did agree the books should be delivered to his quarters rather than the main library for Dorian to study there in private.

Then there’d been Alistair ambushing him in the Great Hall, waving the adoption papers at him and wanting to know what in blazes was Miraak thinking, they barely knew each other!

“I barely knew Halbard or Greta either, I got stuck with them,” Miraak pointed out. “We are Dovahkiin, you and I. We share blood regardless. You don’t have any blood kin left either. We have only our respective loves and each other. I’m not turning you away, zeymah.”

“I’ve called you an utter cock almost every time we’ve spoken,” Alistair whispered. 

“My brother Halbard called me far worse,” Miraak said, shrugging. “I called him many things. Mostly implying he was part troll or part Daedra. We were still brothers to the end. And I still miss him. You’re a good man, Alistair, a skilled warrior and getting good at the Thu’um. Also Dorian likes you. I’d be honoured to be kin to you.”

Alistair stared at the papers, still awaiting his signature.

“I really get to keep that nice room in the tower?” Alistair asked.

“Yes, and when we find your wife, she will be welcome as well,” Miraak told him. “You’re both part of the Inquisition for as long as you want to be or until it disbands.”

“You don’t even know Bethie,” Alistair whispered, but there was an odd note to his voice as if he was blinking back tears. “And fuck, you got me clothes as well. And… and access to the armoury. And you put me on your tavern tab??”

“Yes,” Miraak said, wondering what the problem was. Honestly, Alistair was about as good at accepting affection as Dorian was. He might even be worse. “Josephine will review all purchases at the end of each week, she will advise me of any excessive drinking and I’m cutting it off if there’s any incidents. Dorian has the same terms and conditions. But damned if my kin are paying for drinks in my own tavern.”

“And a cash allowance… fuck, Miraak,” Alistair whispered, and now he was wiping a tear from his eyes. “I mean… I can’t accept this, it’s too much!”

“Fuck’s sake, Alistair, why not?” Miraak snapped, losing patience. “You’re my fellow Dovahkiin. I’m fond of you. I have a responsibility! How the fuck do I look myself in the mirror, how the fuck do I get up in the morning and call myself an Atmoran, if I know my brother Dovahkiin is not taken care of??”

“I’m not a child, Miraak!” Alistair cried. “You don’t need to keep me!”

“Don’t need to, no,” Miraak said firmly. “What I do need is skilled warriors who can inspire my people. Heroes of the Fifth Blight, for example. Personal friends of Lyra Surana and the Champion of Kirkwall, it turns out. And who have directly aided my Inquisition by giving me a lead on Corypheus’s demon army. You have earned this, and you are helping just by being here. Also… I took your Warden taint. I took your livelihood. I cannot do something like that then just leave you to fate.”

Alistair shook his head, closing his eyes and then he went over to Varric’s table to borrow his quill and inkpot, then drew a line through the Theirin surname.

“As a bastard. I’m not really entitled to it,” Alistair announced. “Also it’s not my surname anyway. I took Bethie’s.”

Alistair carefully went over the papers, crossed out each instance of Theirin and replaced it with Hawke, hesitated… and then sighed, accepted the inevitable, signed the adoption papers, carefully blew the ink dry and handed them back to Miraak.

“Fuck you, you utter wanker,” Alistair announced. “Also Varric’s having a Wicked Grace night every Tuesday. See you there so I can take all your money, you prick. If you want, I’ll buy you a drink with the coin I win off you.”

Miraak couldn’t help but smile.

“And now the world will know we are brothers because none other would talk to me like that,” Miraak purred, patting Alistair on the back. “I shall be there, zeymah. Enjoy the new clothes. You may not have them for long.”

“Arsehole,” Alistair said cheerfully, settling down next to Varric as Miraak went to file the papers with his Ambassador. They would both end up getting royally trounced by Josephine and end up hitting the Inquisitorial bar tab while mutually complaining about Antivans, but neither knew that yet.

“So. Officially Miraak’s little brother, eh? How’s that feel?” Varric asked. “Gotta say, the new threads suit you.”

The new threads were the sort of thing a Fereldan King would wear, never mind a Grey Warden. It was a little embarrassing to say the least. But at least it was Fereldan style clothing. Alistair might actually have walked out of Skyhold if they’d got him Orlesian fashions. Or, Maker help him, a mask. Bad enough that Miraak had that weird, tentacled battle mask of his. Alistair still didn’t like to ask just why it had to have tentacles.

“He’s got to be the biggest wanker I ever met and yet he’ll turn round and buy me stuff like this without me even asking,” Alistair sighed. “And put me on his tab. And tell me I get free food. And give me that room underneath his that they only just finished and I know full well the dwarves worked overtime on. I mean, fuck him, Varric. Fuck him to the Fade and back.”

“How dare he be nice to you, eh,” Varric chuckled. “Seriously, mabari, he’s not so bad when you get used to him. He’s got a pretty good sense of humour under all the fire-breathing. A bit on the dry side, but it’s there. I think he was lonely. All that time in the Fade, no one to talk to but demons… surprised he’s not completely insane or an abomination, but here he is. Being human again and having a good time. Turns out he had siblings before. But, well, they died. Stands to reason he finds another Dragonborn and adopts him. Just be glad Dorian got to him before he met you or he might have gone the other traditional route of making someone kin.”

Alistair shuddered at the thought, because while there’d occasionally been men who made him look and made him wonder, all his practical experience had been with women and… Miraak was definitely not his type. Way too much ego, and if Alistair ever wanted a husband, it’d be someone kind and fatherly who’d scratch him behind the ears and snuggle him. Not that overbearing pain in the arse.

“Excuse me, but… did I hear you arguing with Miraak about adoption papers?”

Grand Enchanter Fiona, just passing by, a very strange look on her face.

“Yeah,” Alistair admitted. “The bloody knobhead’s only gone and adopted me as his brother. I mean, sorry Grand Enchanter. I shouldn’t swear. But… he didn’t need to do that.”

“He’s… adopted you?” Fiona whispered. “Officially?”

Her olive-skinned face had gone very pale and she looked almost like she was about to cry.

“Officially,” Alistair admitted, still very much getting used to the idea. “I’m… I mean, I’ve said yes. I was an only child, you know. Never knew my half-brother and then he died. Grew up alone, really. Then I meet this guy and next thing I know, he’s adopting me. Because his family all died as well, and… I don’t know. It’s weird. But… I’ve got a brother! The bloody Inquisitor only bloody adopted me!”

Alistair still wasn’t sure how he should feel about that, other than sitting back and enjoying the perks, and hanging out with Dorian who was now his brother-in-law, and actually all right, it turned out. But… he had a brother now. Someone who clearly gave a shit about him, and took his responsibilities seriously regarding providing for said brother for as long as he needed it and…

“Wait til I tell Beth,” he whispered, and then he remembered Bethany was out in the Western Approach and might be dead for all he knew and that killed his mood.

 _If Bethany is not all right…_ Alistair rubbed his forehead, not liking that idea, and he realised he was glad then that he now had a terrifying older brother with near-godlike power who’d help.

Fiona had taken a seat next to him, still with sadness in her eyes.

“Did you speak to him about her yet?” Fiona asked. “About the Wardens?”

“Yeah,” Alistair said. “It went fine in the end, he asked me a few questions and then I ended up just telling him everything, and he listened and told me he’d help without me even needing to ask. Of course then Dorian pointed out that Corypheus had had a demon army in the future they went to, and when you think about it, it’s really suspicious all the Wardens are hearing the Calling at once, and it does sound exactly like the sort of thing Corypheus might do. I mean, we know he can mind-control Wardens.”

“Don’t remind me,” Varric said, shaking his head. “Ugh, this is all my fault. Corypheus was holed up in this prison, safe from the world, and then we get stuck there and end up just letting him out.”

“Don’t say that!” Alistair sighed. “Look, I had the story off Bethany! She was there! She said he was dead too. Bethany’s a healer, she can tell the difference between alive and dead, even in darkspawn. Especially in darkspawn. You thought he was dead, end of. And you didn’t have a choice, the only way out of that prison was through him. Look, I know him being still alive has bollocksed up, well, everything. But I’ll take this over you and Bethany and Hawke dying down there and me never seeing you again. Any day, mate.”

“Shucks, mabari, you say the nicest things but we know it’s not true,” Varric said wearily. “You ask the survivors of Haven what they’d rather have.”

“Actually they are mostly talking about the Herald’s bravery in going out to face down Corypheus alone, and how they are looking forward to giving Corypheus what-for,” Fiona said, small smile sparking to life. “It seems your new brother has inspired them. And there is talk of you too. Lyra Surana’s sidekick is going to serve Corypheus like he did the Archdemon apparently.”

“I didn’t serve him anything,” Alistair said, shaking his head. “I was fighting off hordes of them in Denerim marketplace, then ended up holding the alienage. City guard had just abandoned the elves, you know. It’s not right.”

“No. It isn’t,” Fiona said, but her smile had broadened and she was patting Alistair’s arm fondly. “You’re a good man, Alistair. I’m very proud of you. You don’t need to be at the final battle to be a hero. You saved lives there, and you keep doing it. Warden or no, because that’s who you are. I think your father would have approved.”

“He’d fucking better,” Alistair muttered, glowering at the reminder of Maric Theirin. Huh. Maric. Miraak. Did all the pricks of the world have similar names? And then he remembered Loghain Mac Tir, and then that despite all his faults, Miraak had shown him nothing but warmth and welcome in only the few weeks he’d known him. Unconditional affection, and Alistair hadn’t had a lot of that in his life. Just from Lyra’s dog, and Lyra, and Duncan and Bethany and his dead mother presumably and…

“Do you think my mum would have been proud,” Alistair whispered. He wasn’t looking at Fiona so didn’t see her start. But he did feel her take his hand in hers and squeeze it.

“Yes,” Fiona said firmly. “Yes, incredibly. You’ve grown into a fine man, Alistair.”

Alistair’s gaze flicked to Fiona, because while her faith in him was nice to have, it was a bit much? Bloody hell, was she going to adopt him next? Not that he’d exactly mind but he’d already got a brother now and the Grand Enchanter really didn’t need to be doing all this, even if they were fellow ex-Wardens.

Fiona clearly realised this as well, because she let him go like she was in pain and coughed nervously, getting to her feet.

“Anyway, I have stolen enough of your time,” Fiona said quickly, cheeks staining pink. “I need to speak with the Inquisitor in any case, he sent me a message about the Chief Librarian role. The intended candidate has dropped out and we need a replacement. Excuse me.”

With that she was gone, leaving Alistair extremely confused. He wasn’t the only one.

“OK, that was… weird,” Varric said, frowning. “Either she has a crush on you or…”

“Varric, I’m bloody married!” Alistair cried. “You were at the bloody wedding!”

It was true. Varric had given the bride away, Hawke had been in the front row being the tearful matron-of-honour, Zevran and Fenris had been in the back row already getting drunk before the ceremony had even finished, Isabela had still been drunk from the hen night, Merrill had nearly stopped the wedding due to running in late and arriving just as the Chantry Mother asked if there were any objections, Lyra had been the best elf, and Lyra and Hawke’s mabaris had formed the bridal party. It had been simultaneously unconventional and yet the most Fereldan wedding ever and it had been the best day of Alistair’s life.

“Yeah, I know which only leaves the weird options,” Varric said thoughtfully. “You say she knew your father? How long ago?”

“Bloody ages ago, she was still a Warden, and I don’t see how an Orlesian Circle mage is going to see much of the King of Ferelden, I think she was only ever at Orlesian and Nevarran Circles,” Alistair sighed, scratching his head. “Why?”

“May want to look into those dates, mabari,” Varric said, knowing grin on his face. “Find out how well she knew him exactly.”

“What???” Alistair gasped. “What are you – Varric! No way did my dad have an affair with Grand Enchanter Fiona. Also my mother was a Redcliffe serving maid. Who died. Fiona is not my mother, because otherwise that means everyone who was supposed to care about me lied to me my entire fucking… life.”

Alistair’s voice trailed off as he began to realise this was not just possible but extremely bloody likely, knowing him.

“No,” he said firmly, getting up. “You’re wrong. I’m going to ask Leliana to look into those dates. And… and I’ll ask Miraak if I can swing by Redcliffe and go through records there. It was before Uncle Teagan’s time but maybe he’ll know something, or know where to look.”

“You do that, mabari,” Varric told him as Alistair got up. It was way too unlikely for Alistair to secretly be the Grand Enchanter’s half-human secret son, but Varric knew what the Circle was like about mages keeping their kids, and he’d seen Fiona’s reactions just now. If that wasn’t a proud mother, Varric had lost his storyteller sense.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“There you are,” Miraak said, glancing up with a smile on his face as Fiona entered the new war room. 

No chairs. Far too cold, not that Miraak ever seemed to notice the cold, but Fiona supposed it made meetings shorter. 

Miraak himself was mask-free, long blond hair tied back behind his head and the robes swapped out for some formal military look in the same blue and gold colours. It looked new. Apparently being officially Inquisitor had its perks, although Fiona suspected Dorian may have picked the outfit. It was definitely strange to see him with the mask off. It was sitting on the end of the war table, its strange squid-like features staring at Fiona, and Fiona resolutely ignored it. That thing had always given her the creeps. Miraak without it was… a lot friendlier and more reassuring. Handsome even. Not Fiona’s type, but she could see what Dorian saw in him now.

“You wanted to see me, sir,” Fiona said, inclining her head. Best to be polite. He did hold the mage rebellion’s future in his hands after all.

“Yes. We’re going to need to revisit the Chief Librarian idea. Dorian said no. He says he needs time for his research and doesn’t want to waste it on administration, also he wants to be available to assist me in the field. When he put it like that, I saw his point. We’ll need another candidate. What about that young woman, Helisma?”

“She’ll do fine as the new research lead, but I’m not sure she is up to running the library as well. Here, I have some more names…”

Miraak listened, nodded attentively, got the list down to four and told her to start interviewing them, and then it seemed the discussion was over. Mostly. Fiona had to ask him about Alistair.

“My lord, I… heard you’ve officially adopted Alistair as your brother. Can I ask why? You barely know him.”

“I know him well enough,” Miraak said, frowning. “His heart is in the right place. He’s not as unintelligent as he pretends. He’s honest with me. He’s brave and honourable and he’s a fellow Dovahkiin. I missed having siblings. He needs a family. So yes, I adopted him. Also I may have killed his Warden career. I need to make recompense. Supporting him as brother to the Inquisitor will do, yes?”

“It will,” Fiona said quietly. “He was happy in the Wardens, I know, even met his wife there. But when I lost the taint, I was never able to re-Join. He might have the same problem. If he does… it warms my heart to know he won’t be alone.”

Strange look in Miraak’s eyes, but he nodded, promising to look after him. Fiona felt it then, the urge to tell him everything, admit she was Alistair’s real mother, that she’d had to give him up. She’d in no way seen Miraak treat elves as less than, and even embraced Liriel as a sister. But all the same, old habits died hard. So she kept her peace and said nothing, and hoped Miraak would be as good as his word and take care of the man she never could.

“Was there anything else, Your Worship?” she asked, sensing the meeting drawing to a close.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Miraak said, straightening up. “At Redcliffe, I said you were on probation. I have been considering the matter and arrived at a decision.”

“You… have?” Fiona glanced nervously into the corner, almost sensing Templars emerging to arrest her… but Miraak did not have enough Templars to constantly police the mages, and they both knew it. 

“Indeed,” Miraak said, wry smile on his lips. “Don’t look so nervous, it’s nothing bad. But we cannot afford to be divided, you and I. On practical terms, I’ve already done my best to integrate mages where their skillsets allow it.”

It was true. Mages routinely trained alongside the rank and file now, fire mages could be seen helping the smiths out, healer mages were routinely found in the infirmary, and the growing research facility didn’t differentiate between mage, Chantry or secular researchers. 

“You’ve kept the Templars at a distance too,” Fiona noted. “It’s been appreciated.”

“We can be thankful we have the more reasonable ones,” Miraak said dryly. “Fiona, you have to have worked out I am no supporter of the Circle system. My magic flowered when I was a boy, and it was cause for celebration, a sign I was meant for great things. Of course, it also set me apart and that had consequences. But no one took me from home until I reached adulthood, and then I had a prestigious career ahead of me. Had I had the misfortune to be born Andrastian, I would never have seen my mother again. That…”

Miraak shook his head, looking grieved at the mere thought. Then he looked up, eyes narrowing.

“Had I been born Andrastian, it could have been me leading the rebels. As it is, I came at the right time to avoid incarceration, and now they made me leader. Because they need me. But I am under no illusion this will last forever. I must think of the future. I must think of Dorian’s future.”

Miraak tilted his head and smiled.

“We stand for freedom or we stand for nothing. Mages fought and died alongside the rest of us at Haven, mages work alongside us now helping rebuild, and I’ve no reason to think any of you disloyal. I told my Council earlier. Cullen still thinks it’s a bad idea, but Leliana squealed and Josephine just said ‘very good, my lord’ and made notes. Grand Enchanter, your probation is over because the Inquisition is backing mage freedom. No more Circles if I can prevent it.”

“No more… you support us?” Fiona gasped. “Truly?”

“Yes,” Miraak said, smiling, and Fiona’s heart skipped as she realised just what Dorian saw in him because that smile could melt lead. “And if I have any say in it, so will the next Divine.”

Fiona had a feeling he definitely would.

“Thank you, Your Worship,” Fiona gasped, tears in her eyes. “You won’t regret this, I swear.”

“I don’t believe I will, no,” Miraak said, holding out a hand. Fiona took it, her own hand feeling ridiculously small in his but the handshake was no less sincere for that.

No more Circles. Free mages. Just given to her – no, not given to her. The Herald had had time to think and seen the righteousness of their cause. Fiona hadn’t expected that. He’d gained a reputation as the conservative sort of mage, a Loyalist type – he was on record preaching against trafficking with demons and denounced blood magic too, and wasn’t he friends with Vivienne?

Vivienne might have a few opinions on this herself when she heard, but Fiona didn’t think Miraak was the type to vacillate once he’d made up his mind. Perhaps that Loyalist reputation might make this go down better.

It didn’t matter. The Inquisition supported mages. Fiona would be smiling about this for weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miraak on mage rights being motivated almost entirely by self-interest and wanting to make sure Dorian doesn't end ujp in a Circle if they can't go back to Tevinter - seemed the best solution all round. Vivienne is unlikely to approve, but she'll probably still be talking to him.
> 
> Of course Alistair has taken his wife's name.
> 
> I was wodnering how to approach him and Fiona - they've not had the same opportunity to bond as much as their AoD equivalents, Alistair's just not as needy in this and Miraak has no idea Fiona's Alistair's mother and therefore can't intervene. And then I wrote that scene with Varric watching and realised Varric would notice these things and has a writer's brain. And now we have Alistair doing his own investigation!


	19. Last Resort of Good Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Miraak expected much from his new appointment, but he'd not expected the first real test of his reign to be aimed, not at him, but at his partner. But with Dorian's family having heard all about Dorian's involvement with not just the Inquisition but its Dragonborn Inquisitor, Miraak finds himself meeting the parents... and where a Dovah is concerned, there's no such thing as just talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Resort of Good Men! It's meet the parents time! Warnings for all the canon stuff, plus a fair bit of emotional trauma, especially on Dorian's part.

War table options set and it was time to take a walk, check on the holdings, meet people, make sure everything was unfolding as it should. Maybe make sure Varric was all right, he wasn’t taking Corypheus’s return well. Maybe make sure Cole was behaving. The spirit was… unpredictable but mostly harmless. However, his first night here he’d wanted to mercy-kill one of the wounded soldiers. Miraak saw the need for that, he truly did. But not when they’d got the man off the battlefield and had healers available. It was saying something that Cicero the Dark Brotherhood assassin had been less likely to go on a stabbing spree in his base than the spirit of compassion.

“Inquisitor! If I might have a moment of your time?”

Mother Giselle. They’d not had a chance to speak since the ceremony. Miraak had been too keen on sweeping Dorian off his feet and seeing these fancy new quarters he’d been promised. But he had a feeling she might have been behind the decision to appoint him.

“So I am. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Ah, Your Worship. I have done no more than state the obvious to those who most needed to hear it.”

That was a yes then.

“Well, you have my thanks,” Miraak told her. “There are many days when that is my job too. I fear those will only increase.”

“I am sure of it, but you are not a man shy to state his opinions,” Giselle said, falling into step beside him as they made their way through the Great Hall. “Love or hate someone, few don’t know your opinions on them.”

True enough. When you had the Thu’um at your disposal, none gave you any trouble regardless, so why bother lying? Still, he had a feeling Thedosian politics might be about to give him trouble in that regard. No matter. Orlais could wait for now.

“Have I expressed some opinions that could get me in trouble?” Miraak asked. News of the Inquisition declaring the mages in its service had proved themselves might be one of them, but Leliana assured him she would monitor the situation, and Corypheus’s arrival might well give everyone bigger things to think about. Josephine had also been of the opinion that finding out they had bigger problems might cause the otherwise opposed to see the wisdom of his decision.

Good. They’d better. But Mother Giselle did tend to see the wisdom of most of his… and last night, Dorian had told him he’d somehow managed to win her over.

“No,” Giselle said calmly. “Your star, for now, is rising. And… when we spoke after Haven, I expressed concerns over your choice of partner. My lord, I wish to offer my apologies. It was unworthy of me. I have had a chance to speak with the young man now. He is… not what I expected. Underneath that glib exterior lies a troubled soul, messere. He is more fragile than he lets on. He is estranged from his family, I know, and I become more convinced having spoken to him that he has good reason to be.”

That did stop Miraak. Dorian had spoken of his family estrangement? To Mother Giselle?

“You know something,” Miraak said, frowning. “What? He does not speak much of his family, although I know they have not treated him well.”

That was obvious, even if Dorian hadn’t revealed his mother used to beat him for effeminacy. Dorian was a man used to being on his own, to not trusting other people, not letting anyone in. Miraak had also been forced to spend years alone, but he knew how to let other people in once he did trust them. Whereas Dorian had spent days stewing over not being worthy of being his partner and afraid he’d just drag Miraak down and it had never once occurred to him to talk to Miraak about it. Until last night, and apparently that had been Mother Giselle’s suggestion.

Giselle produced a letter, face growing sombre.

“His family have been in contact. They heard he was involved with the Inquisition and are… concerned.”

Miraak’s entire brain shifted its focus, everything else fading away as he settled on one fact. Dorian’s family were here. Dorian’s family were sniffing around.

Dorian’s fucking family who had hurt him in the first place were trying to interfere with his Inquisition, with his bloody _consort_. 

Miraak was having none of it.

“Oh?” Miraak breathed, seeing the world turn purple and seeing the priestess step back in shock and realise his eyes were probably glowing. Damn it. Hastily he shook his head and wrestled his magic back under control.

“My apologies,” Miraak said, forcing a smile. “Why are they concerned? Are they Venatori? Or are they just concerned Dorian might actually start liking himself and find happiness.”

“My lord, he is their son,” Giselle said, reproving him a little. “They are concerned he is putting himself in harm’s way. Magister Pavus acknowledges he may have wronged his son. He merely wishes to talk. Where is the harm in that?”

“My voice can kill a man, and you ask me that?” Miraak snapped, before pulling himself together. “Ugh. Krosis. You’ll forgive me if I don’t like the idea of his parents anywhere near him. Why are they writing to you anyway.”

“Because they do not know you, Inquisitor, and I do not believe they trust your intentions,” Giselle sighed. “Even before yesterday, your association with him was known. I believe they fear you may be using him.”

“Hah, there’s irony,” Miraak said bitterly, recalling how she’d implied Dorian was doing that very thing to him. “Do they really think so little of their own son that his wit and charm might not have been enough to captivate me on their own?”

“I don’t think that, but you’re an imposing and powerful figure,” Giselle said gently. “They could be forgiven for feeling nervous.”

Miraak was not going to forgive House Pavus a goddamned thing any time soon. They’d produced the most perfect, beautiful man he’d ever met and cast him out. What was wrong with them??

“You still haven’t said why they wrote to you,” Miraak growled. “And I still have no reason to believe this really is his parents and not a Venatori plot.”

“I am a Chantry Mother, Your Worship,” Giselle said, voice still calm even in the face of Miraak’s clear anger. “Not of the Imperial Chantry but they know what I represent. I don’t believe it is a Venatori plot but if it is, all the more reason to put this in your hands. You are far better equipped to deal with such a problem than I.”

“I am,” Miraak murmured, allowing himself a smile at that. Even if part of him would far rather get his hands on Dorian’s parents.

“They wish to meet him, that’s all,” Giselle urged, hand on his wrist. “They have a retainer waiting in the tavern at Redcliffe. They have asked me to bring Dorian to meet him there, without telling Dorian what awaits. I think you should go in my stead.”

Miraak thought that too, but had no intention of bringing Dorian to this unwarned. Time to find him. He’d not expected to meet Dorian’s family so soon, and certainly not like this… but part of him was looking forward to it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“If you’re after Messere Pavus, he’s in the garden with the Commander,” one of the Inquisition guards told him, and Miraak was pleased to know Dorian was getting a Messere. He’d need to lurk incognito in the tavern to learn the true state of affairs, but Miraak had high hopes. The Inquisition would follow loyally, and respecting his partner was part of that.

Sure enough, Dorian and Cullen were seated at a table in the garden’s cloisters, with some sort of game board in front of them, both looking intently at it.

“Ah! I think I have you,” Dorian said, grinning triumphantly as he moved one of the black pieces then smirked at Cullen. “You know, you need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel so much better.”

“Really,” Cullen replied, answering grin firmly in place as he moved one of his pieces. “Because I just won. And I feel fine.”

Dorian gasped, stared at the board, making little spluttering noises as he analysed the situation and realised he was indeed checkmated… then glared at Cullen.

“Don’t get smug. There will be no living with you,” Dorian said tetchily, and then both of them noticed Miraak watching.

“Oh! Inquisitor!” Cullen gasped, going scarlet. “I, er, should return to my duties…”

“Yes, please get him back to calibrating the trebuchets, he is so much less smug when he’s doing that,” Dorian sighed.

“We don’t have any trebuchets yet,” Miraak pointed out. They were still on their way from Haven – quite where they were going to go was anyone’s guess but Miraak presumed Cullen would find somewhere.

“No, but there’s a hundred other things to do, Maker’s Breath,” Cullen cursed as he got up. “I guess Dorian will need to wait a few days to attempt to get his revenge.”

“Attempt? Attempt?? You just wait, Cullen, next time…!”

Miraak put an arm round Dorian, pointedly pulling him closer.

“Perhaps you should let my military commander get back to work, hmm,” Miraak told him. “You know, Cullen, you do not have to take this one’s orders. He’s consort, he’s not actually in the chain of command.”

“I know, but he’s remarkably persuasive and it’s been a while since I played,” Cullen said wistfully. “Let me know if you want a game some time, Inquisitor. Happy to oblige. Or teach you, if you’ve never played.”

It was something to think about. Cullen left and Dorian started packing the board up.

“Careful there, amatus, he’s a good player,” Dorian said, ruefully shaking his head as he filed the pieces away. “I learnt the game off my father, got good at it with Alexius, thought I was a skilled player. Alas for underestimating the man.”

“Alas,” Miraak said, remembering why he’d come here. “Dorian, I… a letter arrived. You need to see it.”

“Ooh, a letter! Is it saucy?” Dorian asked, losing patience with the pawns and levitating the remaining pieces into the box en masse. “A humorous proposal from an Antivan dowager? A Chantry Mother’s secret assignations?”

“Dorian,” Miraak snapped, wishing he’d take this at least a little seriously. “Here. It’s from your _father._ ”

“My fathe-” The good humour was gone in an instant as Dorian held out his hand for the letter and read its contents, growing steadily angrier. “Rebuffed all contact – there’s a reason for that. I know him – know me?? What my father knows about me would barely fill a thimble!! Alarmed by the thought of me in danger – danger?? I’m safer with you than anyone else in Thedas! Don’t look at me like that, Miraak, you’re a terrifying demigod with a protective streak bigger than the Frostbacks.”

Of course he was, but it was always nice to think of Dorian feeling safe with him. 

“Shall we meet him together then,” Miraak asked. “So you can shout at him in person?”

“What, meet the parents?” Dorian laughed bitterly… and then he sighed and sat down, shaking his head. “Oh Miraak. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to drag you into my sordid family past. We’re estranged for a reason, you know. They don’t approve of my choices, nor I theirs. And I can’t imagine hearing I’m involved with the Inquisitor will help either. I can’t imagine they approve of you.”

“Their loss,” Miraak said, shrugging. “I don’t care about their approval. You love me. I love you. We need nothing from them.” 

Pulling the other chair over, he sat down next to Dorian, taking his hand in his.

“Dorian. You know I approve of your choices. You know you have my support. I won’t let you face this alone, you know that.”

“I know,” Dorian said, squeezing his head, smiling sadly at him. “Amatus, I… thank you. You know, I’m so glad I met you. You’ve changed my life, you know. I’m used to being alone in the world, moving through it without ever being touched by it but you… you walked into my life and now I can’t imagine being without you. I’ve never been in a proper relationship before, you know. I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t… I didn’t expect any of this. I just thought it’d be like some casual affair but we didn’t have to worry about snatching time or getting caught. But it is so much more than that. Because suddenly I don’t just have affection on tap, I’ve got someone at my back looking out for me. I’m not alone. I’ve got an ally. I’m still not used to this, you know. But I’m so glad of it. Especially when something like this comes up. I’d hate to be in this alone. Or if Mother Giselle had gone along with his plan… why would my father think I’d go with her?? Did he not realise I spent my entire adult life avoiding Chantries??”

“And ironically we met in one,” Miraak said, remembering that day fondly. “Ah, fariiki. You’re a delight, you know. Yes. I’ll let the Council know I’ll be travelling. I’ll bring Alistair too. Give him something to do. Also he has that Templar training. If things go south, it could be invaluable. It is your father’s handwriting? You’re sure it’s not a Venatori forgery?”

“It’s from him,” Dorian said, closing his eyes. “I mean, he might have joined the Venatori of course. But they’re expecting just me and Mother Giselle, they’re not expecting you to turn up. If it turns out to be a trap, we kill everyone and get out. You’re good at that!”

The Arl of Redcliffe might not be so forgiving, but nor would he be pleased at the prospect of Tevinter mages in his town. An apology and gold would probably win him over. Wasn’t he related to Alistair in some way? Alistair called the man Uncle Teagan. Yes, definitely worth bringing his brother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alistair had been delighted to go to Redcliffe, in fact he’d wanted to go anyway, do some family research. So off they’d travelled, just the three of them plus Inquisition guards, and it turned out Arl Teagan was quite pleased to see Alistair again… but less pleased to see Miraak.

“Inquisitor Miraak. I suppose I have you to thank for ousting that magister.”

“Indeed. Dorian here assisted as well. His help was invaluable.”

Arl Teagan’s eyes flicked to Dorian and while his facial expression didn’t change, he wasn’t fool enough to disregard Dorian in front of his Inquisitor partner.

“Of course. Messere Pavus has my thanks. I heard that in the wake of all this you’ve taken responsibility for the rebels… and decided to back their cause?”

“I have,” Miraak said, folding his arms. “They have served me well… and I am not such a hypocrite that I would order one thing for other mages while avoiding it myself. And there is no Circle built that could hold me for long.”

Arl Teagan did not look happy, but Dorian was smiling and Alistair was beaming.

“He’s great, isn’t he, Uncle?” Alistair said cheerfully. “So anyway, can we stay here for a couple of days. I wanted to check a few things in the old records, and Dorian’s father’s retainer’s a guest in the tavern. Miraak and Dorian are going to meet him.”

“I’m aware of a Tevinter mage staying there,” Arl Teagan said, glowering. “He’s done no harm so far and he’s paying good coin not to be bothered, but… after his countrymen’s actions, the sooner he’s gone, the better. Fine. You can stay. Before you settle in though, I was going to send this to your Ambassador, but seeing as you’re here…”

He presented Miraak with a list… which turned out to be a reparations bill for damaged buildings and injuries caused by magical accidents.

“If they’re your people, you can help pay for it,” Teagan said coolly. Dorian glanced at the list and whistled.

“That’s… rather a lot,” Dorian said. “If you need to cancel the furnishing orders, I quite understand.”

“I’ll speak with Josephine,” Miraak said, pocketing the list. “I’m sure we can find the money from somewhere. Failing that, we have construction workers. Some of them could assist with repairs in lieu of coin.”

“That would be acceptable,” Teagan nodded. “All right, my steward here will show you to your accommodation. Alistair, stay a minute.”

Miraak and Dorian left, and Teagan got up from the high seat, leading Alistair aside.

“Records,” Teagan said softly. “Which records.”

“My mother’s old records,” Alistair admitted. “The death certificate. How and when she died. My birth certificate. There’s… a few inconsistencies in things I’ve found out so far. I thought I should check them. Have you got anything here or is it all in the Chantry?”

“There’s not much here from thirty years ago, Alistair,” Teagan sighed. “But the Chantry will have the records. It’s blasphemy to tamper with a Chantry record book or dispose of it, it’ll be there. Only Eamon told me before he died that he’d had yours sealed. According to the previous Revered Mother, he’d tried to get her to burn them, but she refused. Apparently sealing the contents was all she’d agree to. No, I don’t know why. He wouldn’t say, only it was for your own good. I don’t… look, you’re a grown man and it’s your past. You want to see them, I will get you a writ to open them. Only… just take care, Alistair. You might not like what you see.”

“Right,” Alistair said quietly. “I mean… thanks. I’ll be careful.”

Bit late for that. Merely that they’d been sealed by Eamon, known political manipulator, told him something was up. For his own good?? Not a decision that man ever made had truly been for Alistair’s own good. Alistair fingered the repaired Andrastian amulet that had been all he had from his mother. 

If his growing intuition turned out to be correct, even that might be a lie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The following morning and after breakfast, it was unanimously felt that it was best not to put this off, so off to the Gull and Lantern it was.

The tavern was deserted.

“That’s not good,” Alistair whispered. “There’s usually someone in here, even if it’s just the bar staff.”

Footsteps on the stairs, and all three looked up to see a man emerging. Fine Tevinter clothes. Dark skin like Dorian’s. Dark hair. And from the way Dorian had stiffened, known to him.

“Father,” Dorian said, instinctively both going on guard and moving closer to Miraak. And Miraak… Miraak looked on Magister Halward Pavus and behind the mask, his face grimaced in a snarl, his hands moving to Dorian’s shoulders, ready to drag him out of the way or out of the tavern if he had to.

“Magister Pavus,” Miraak growled. “We were told to expect a retainer and yet here you are. I do not appreciate being lied to.”

Halward Pavus’s eyes widened as he looked Miraak over, taking him in, sensing Miraak’s aura… and then he glared, shaking his head.

“Inquisitor Miraak. You were not supposed to be involved.”

“So I surmised,” Miraak purred, hoping the hostility in his stance burned. “And yet here I am. Involved. Because you used false pretences and deception to attempt to lure Dorian out here without him knowing he’d be meeting you, and you wished me kept ignorant. Did you honestly think I would not find out, and that on finding out, I would permit it.”

Halward did growl at this, lips curling, and if Miraak had wished to make a good impression on his father-in-law, he was manifestly failing. Miraak found he didn’t care.

“Your intentions towards my son are precisely what concerned me enough to come!” Halward snapped. “Between the Venatori, Templars and you? I can’t even begin to work out which is the bigger threat but I do know precisely who’s _ensnared my son!_ ”

Miraak’s magic started to prickle and he was this close to unleashing his Thu’um… until Dorian squeezed his hand.

“Will you listen to yourself, father!” Dorian cried. “Ensnared?? I chose to join the Inquisition and I chose to spend time with Miraak, and I chose to commit myself as his partner! I’m not a child, father! I’ve got a will of my own, you know. Even if you would prefer it otherwise.”

Something in the way he’d said that. Something about that reminded him of Liriel’s tone of voice when they’d first met at Haven, when she’d suspected he was using Bend Will to secure Inquisition loyalty.

Dorian had reacted particularly badly to the idea of magical mind control, and Miraak at the time had just thought him to be a decent and honourable man who was revolted by the idea, and of course this was likely the case. But… had Halward Pavus tried to do something like it to Dorian? Because he wouldn’t play along with an arranged marriage?

Miraak said nothing, because all his control was going into reining in his magic and his Voice, because if he’d done that or tried to do that to Dorian…

“Dorian,” Halward breathed, staring at him in horror. “Dorian, no, it is not like that. But you are in danger just by being here and associating with him makes you a target. Dorian, please come home.”

“Home? Tevinter’s never felt less like home,” Dorian snapped. “Why are you really here, father.”

Halward closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe, my son.”

“Of course I’m safe, the most powerful man in Thedas devoted himself to keeping me from harm!” Dorian snapped, taking Miraak’s hand in his then kissing his fingers once. “I’ve never once felt in serious danger from him and the one time it came near that… that’s when he stepped back and told to leave for my own sake. We talked it out. I didn’t, in the end. Miraak’s given me no cause to regret any of it. I’m safer in Miraak’s arms than I ever was in your house!”

Miraak’s suspicions crystallised into certainty. 

“What did he do to you,” Miraak growled, seeing the world start to turn blue, and knowing his eyes were glowing but truly not caring by this point.

“Dorian,” Halward gasped, staggering back and casting a protective barrier. “Dorian, everything your mother and I did, it was for your own good!”

“For my own good!” Dorian gasped, wiping a tear from his eye. “For my own good?? For nothing more than your own fucking legacy, that was what it was! The next generation of Pavus pawns was all you wanted! Well, no more! If I ever raise children, I will take every step in my power to make sure you and Mother get nowhere near them!”

Dorian was getting more and more emotional, and Halward’s face was wracked with distress and guilt, and Miraak placed a hand on Dorian’s shoulder.

“What did they do,” Miraak said softly, needing to hear this. Dorian’s distress went beyond beatings and strict boarding schools.

Dorian had fallen quiet, but he was shaking with fury and there were little purple wreaths around his own fingers.

“He taught me to hate blood magic, you know,” Dorian said, voice quiet and tight and laced with pain. “The last resort of the weak-minded, those were his words! And what did he do when his precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? He tried to… change me!”

Blood magic. On Dorian. His Dorian. His beautiful, beloved Dorian, and if it had worked, he’d never have looked twice at Miraak.

Miraak relinquished any semblance of control, sensing only harm done to his mate and everything in him requiring him to retaliate. 

“FUS RO DAH!” 

Halward’s barrier wasn’t enough to withstand the Thu’um and he fell staggering back. Miraak drew his sword and stalked over, casting mage armour and preparing to strike.

Heavy footsteps moving quickly and a hand smacking into his chest, but it was gauntleted, not leather-wrapped.

“Don’t,” Alistair said firmly. “Don’t kill him. Maker knows he’s got it coming, but don’t.”

Then he turned to Halward, hand gesturing and Miraak felt the power come from him, feeling like the Thu’um… but no words from Alistair’s lips. But the magic at Halward Pavus’s fingers had gone out, and Miraak couldn’t sense his aura any more.

“Get out,” Alistair said, venom in his voice that Miraak hadn’t thought him capable of. “I’m saving your life because Dorian doesn’t deserve to see his father murdered in front of him, but don’t think I think you’re anything other than an appalling parent. No, don’t say anything, any of you. It’s true. Dorian can’t help being who he is. He likes men. Only men. And even if you wanted legitimate grandkids that badly, you could at least have picked out a wife he liked personally, arranged artificial insemination for the kids then let him have whatever lover he liked. But no. You engaged him against his will to someone he hated, and when for some reason he didn’t like it, you tried to use blood magic on him?? Even in Tevinter, that’s wrong.”

Halward Pavus was slowly getting to his feet, not looking at either Alistair or Miraak. All his attention was on Dorian.

“Dorian… I’m sorry. I only came to hear your voice one more time… and ask your forgiveness.”

Dorian wasn’t looking at any of this. He’d closed his eyes and averted his gaze when Miraak had moved on his father with lethal intent… and tellingly, he’d not made a move to stop it. Even now he had hunched his shoulders, back turned, hands covering his face.

Harknir Hrongarsson would never in a million years have ever pleaded for Miraak’s forgiveness. But he’d also been fundamentally an honest man and for all he’d argued with Miraak, had never tried to change him. And Miraak had still mourned his death.

Gods damn it. Miraak put his sword away and went over to Dorian, seeing his beloved in pain and wanting to help, even if he had no idea how. Killing Halward Pavus probably wasn’t the way.

Back turned to Magister Pavus, and Miraak reached for his mask and pulled it off, shaking his hair loose, and letting the mask fall to the top of the bar with a heavy thud. It got Dorian’s attention, and he looked up, saw Miraak’s real face and then seconds later he was in Miraak’s arms, sobbing silent tears on Miraak’s chest.

“You don’t have to,” Miraak murmured to him. “Even if he is your father. Fariiki, his guilt is his to bear. You shouldn’t have to. Shall we go home?”

Dorian said nothing and then he nodded, squeezing Miraak tight and not looking up as Miraak picked up the mask and led him out, beckoning Alistair to come with him. Halward was watching Dorian, clearly heartbroken, but Dorian didn’t even look his way. Miraak, however, did and took pleasure in the surprise on his face.

“Were you expecting some demonic horror?” Miraak said, amused. “We told you. Dorian made his choices for a reason. And I’ve done nothing but take care of him and love him. Perhaps you should have tried it.”

“Miraak,” Dorian said, voice muffled. “Miraak, I want to go home.”

“Of course,” Miraak murmured, planting a kiss on the top of Dorian’s head. “Come on, amatus, let’s get you out of here.”

Yes, let Halward Pavus hear him call that and realise just how close they were. Let him see just how completely he’d replaced Dorian’s parents in Dorian’s affections. It was a small victory, although he wished for Dorian’s sake things had been different. He wasn’t even sure Halward’s heartbreak hadn’t been real.

But Halward Pavus had had the first thirty years of Dorian’s life to build a loving relationship with his son, and he’d failed so spectacularly Dorian couldn’t even bear to be in the same room as him. Love wasn’t enough to heal some wounds.

Leaving the tavern with Dorian in his arms and Alistair at his back, Miraak stepped out into the Ferelden sunshine. Time to get his beloved back to the castle to be fussed over. His parents may have failed Dorian about as spectacularly as was possible to fail a child. Miraak had no intention of doing so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alistair had left for Redcliffe Chantry but not before pulling Dorian into a gentle but no less sincere hug, kissing him on the cheek and holding him for a good thirty seconds before letting him go. Had Alistair not been married, Miraak might have had to have a word, but as it was, Dorian probably needed all the comfort he could get.

“You take care, mate,” Alistair told Dorian, patting his cheek. “And just you remember, you’re brilliant, there’s nothing wrong with you and your dad is… your dad managed to screw up worse than mine did. You don’t have to forgive him.”

Dorian nodded, still not saying anything, and then Alistair promised to meet them back at the castle before disappearing. Arm round Dorian, and Miraak led him back to their room at the castle, before sitting Dorian down on the room’s chaise and fetching two pillows and spare blanket from the cupboard. Then lying him down on the chaise with a pillow for his head and wrapping the blanket over him.

Pillow number two was for Miraak to kneel on while he stroked Dorian’s hair.

Dorian still hadn’t said anything, just mutely going along with whatever Miraak directed, and frankly Miraak was worried by this point. Dorian was never normally this quiet.

But he did reach out and start stroking Miraak’s hair, sad eyes looking up at him, tears rolling down his face.

“I’m sorry, amatus,” Dorian said softly. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

He sounded quiet and unhappy and very unlike his normal outgoing self.

“None of this was your fault and you have nothing to apologise for,” Miraak told him, heart aching for him and the urge to go back to that tavern and finish the job on Halward Pavus ever present. But no. Dorian needed him.

Dorian closed his eyes and looked down.

“I don’t think I ever would have told you if he hadn’t come after me,” Dorian said. “I still can’t believe he did it. That he even thought it would work. I always trusted him, you know. I knew from a young age there was no pleasing my mother but he always cared. At least, I thought he did. And then these hired thugs take me prisoner and drag me back to Qarinus, I’m a prisoner in my own family home, and then one night he tries… that. It was the slaves saved me, you know? One of them found out what was going on and helped me escape. I think he was using her husband’s blood for… Never did find out what happened to her. I hope she’s all right.”

If Miraak ever found that slave, he’d have the Inquisition buy her then free her on the spot. As it was, he settled for patting Dorian’ s back, wrapping an arm round him and resting his cheek against Dorian’s.

“There’s a reason hearing you’d enslaved an entire island with the Thu’um bothered me, you know,” Dorian said quietly. “I mean, it would bother anyone but… if my father was prepared to run the risk of using blood magic, of risking turning me into a drooling vegetable to avoid scandal, what would stop you if I got out of line?”

“Dorian,” Miraak whispered, lump in his throat because Dorian couldn’t still believe that, he couldn’t! “I would never hurt you!”

“I didn’t think he would either,” Dorian whispered, closing his eyes. “There’s a reason I pretend nothing matters. It’s easier that way. They can’t betray you if they never get close. But then I met you and I can’t shut you out, no matter how hard I try. Everything in me wants to just fall into your arms, but I’m so afraid and… Maker, what the hell do you think of me now, after this. Now you’ve seen the real me. Angry and bitter and hostile and shoving everyone I love away so they can’t get at me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Miraak told him, reaching for Dorian’s hand and nestling closer, because he was out of his depth and scared and Dorian was being… no. Dorian was hurt and scared and vulnerable, and Miraak couldn’t help but think of Dorian in the tent next to him somewhere in the Frostbacks whispering how had Miraak not gone off him.

Dorian really didn’t like himself very much, which was something completely beyond Miraak’s understanding, both because Miraak had never struggled with self-esteem in his life, and because in his opinion, there was literally nothing wrong with Dorian.

Silence between them for a long time, and then Dorian spoke again.

“Amatus?”

“Yes, lokaal?”

“I don’t want you to go. I’m glad you’re here. I love you so much it terrifies me. Sometimes I think you’d be better off with someone else, someone who actually can do relationships and isn’t broken.”

“You are not broken. You were hurt. It’s not the same. And I still love you and will take care of you.”

Miraak could feed him and hug him and keep him warm and keep him company and provide a listening ear anyway. Whether it would help, he didn’t know. But Dorian would need all of it, so Miraak would provide.

Dorian made a little whimpering noise and clung on to Miraak, head buried in his hair, and Miraak held on to him, hating seeing Dorian cry, absolutely hating it, scared himself to see it. But he held Dorian to him, trying to soothe him as best he could, kissing his forehead and holding him, waiting until Dorian finally stopped crying and dried his eyes.

“Herald of Andraste,” Dorian finally gasped, withdrawing but not letting go of his hands. “You really are, aren’t you.”

“Dorian,” Miraak sighed. “You know my story. I was trapped in the demonic realm of the Daedra of Forbidden Knowledge for millennia and it was Corypheus who freed me. There was nothing holy in it.”

Dorian was shaking his head, smiling despite the tears still on his cheek.

“No,” Dorian said softly. “No, you must be. The Maker himself must have sent you. There’s no other explanation. You’re just too beautiful and perfect not to be.”

“This isn’t the prelude to another oration on my cheekbones, is it?” Miraak said warily. Not that he minded exactly, but it was a little awkward sometimes. Miraak was more used to seeing his desirability in terms of what he could do and what he commanded, his ability to provide the world for his lover. Having said lover constantly obsessing over Miraak’s alleged adorability was unnerving. Still… it was rather endearing.

Dorian just smiled and stroked his jawline.

“You know, it’s occurred to me that if I wasn’t attracted to men, I wouldn’t be attracted to you,” Dorian said thoughtfully. “And that… I can’t even imagine that, you know. I mean, look at you, you’re beautiful. I can’t take my eyes off you. The eyes. The cheekbones. The hair. That strong, powerful jaw. The shoulders. The muscles. The thighs. Everything. Can you imagine looking at that and not wanting it? I can’t! I… I have never been so glad my father didn’t succeed, you know. I…”

Dorian’s lips twisted in a grimace as he sat up, suddenly furious.

“How dare he, how fucking dare he? How dare he try to… how dare he try and prevent the best thing that ever happened to me?”

Dorian looked like he was about to cry again and Miraak gathered him into his arms again, feeling rather gratified at being the reason for Dorian to actually be angry at his father.

“How dare he indeed, fariiki,” Miraak murmured. “My precious one. My life would be nothing without you.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Dorian laughed, nuzzling him. “If not me, someone else would have snapped you up. You’re both powerful and beautiful, that’s an appealing combination. You, love, are a catch. I’m not entirely sure I am… but there’s no end to the list of things to love about you.”

“You are more than worth loving and you saved me from the Dark Future,” Miraak told him. “How can I not love you.”

Dorian said nothing, backing off a little to see Miraak’s face, smiling sadly at him.

“I am the most selfish man alive because I don’t deserve you, not at all,” Dorian said softly. “But damned if I am ever giving you up.”

Dorian’s lips met Miraak’s and Miraak closed his eyes, sighing in happiness at his lover feeling more like himself, because Miraak did not think Dorian was selfish, not remotely. Not nearly as self-centred as he was, for a start. And yet Miraak, had he but realised it, had just spent the last half-hour fussing over and doting on Dorian without even thinking about it and begrudging none of it, and would do the same for any friend – maybe not the kissing part, but the rest.

“If I am a gift from the Maker in reward for your sufferings, then you would be a fool to turn it down,” Miraak murmured as the kiss broke off, and Dorian laughed, delighted.

“I would, wouldn’t I,” Dorian said, smiling. “Ah, amatus. Thank you. Without you, this… this would have been a mess. I mean, it was. But… having you here… it’s helped. It truly has. My father was wrong, wasn’t he. And I even feel sorry for him. But… he can’t just walk back into my life and expect forgiveness. It’ll need to be earned.”

Miraak didn’t like the sound of that. He’d have preferred no contact.

“What did you have in mind,” Miraak said warily. 

“Could I write to him, do you think,” Dorian said, thinking things over. “Mother never goes to his Magisterium office, I could write to him there.”

Miraak did not like the idea at all, but he supposed Dorian was going to try regardless.

“Yes, I suppose,” Miraak sighed. “I’ll tell Josephine to make sure it gets there. But anything he sends back is going via Leliana to be read before it gets to you. If it seems tailored to upset you, the correspondence ends.”

“Overprotective to the end, aren’t you,” Dorian said, stroking his face. “Look, he’ll still be in the tavern, right? I… could go back and talk. Maybe it’ll go better this time?”

Miraak growled, blue light filling the room and his eyes were glowing again, he could tell.

“If he hurts you, Dorian…” Miraak said, every word a warning.

“We’ll be in a tavern,” Dorian sighed, trying to reassure him. The attempt failed. “What’s he going to try?”

Miraak truly didn’t like the idea, but if Dorian was set on this… damned if Miraak wasn’t giving him a way to call for help. Miraak gestured, and the orb flew to him. Drawing it around Dorian in a circle, Miraak sat back as it hovered at Dorian’s shoulder.

“The orb will go with you,” Miraak told him. “You will have privacy to talk but if the orb detects any magic, it’ll act. Also if you need help, shout Gol Hah at it. It’ll bring me.”

“You aren’t seriously considering using that thing to cast Bend Will on my father, are you?” Dorian sighed. “Maker help you, Miraak.”

Miraak noted full well the lack of serious disapproval there and smiled.

“If it is merited, I’d do it,” Miraak said, stroking Dorian’s cheek. “Niid faas. I’d lift the magic once we’d arrested him and got him under guard with Templars on watch. I promised Alistair and you not to kill him. But if he tries anything, arresting him and telling the King of Tevinter in detail exactly what he did and sending him back in disgrace is very possible.”

“ _Archon,_ Miraak, Tevinter’s ruled by the Archon,” Dorian told him. “Honestly, pay attention. Josephine will have a fit if she hears you casually mistitling rulers of entire countries. But that aside, yes I rather think that fitting. There was a bit of a scandal at the time but with me refusing to testify, no proof. Honestly, I wanted to run away from the whole thing. But if he turns out to not have learned anything… yes, Miraak, do it. With you at my back, I think I could cope with it. You’re just… so fearless. I do love you, you know.”

“And I you,” Miraak told him, helping Dorian up and reaching for the mask, already regretting this. “Come, lokaaliin, let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miraak had left Dorian at the Gull and Lantern, but the orb Dorian was already thinking of as the Eye of Miraak was hovering at his shoulder, pulsing with magic. Miraak’s magic. It was a little like having his amatus there, except less likely to rip someone’s head off if they looked at Dorian the wrong way. Which was probably a good thing.

Dorian asked at the bar and learned the Tevinter gentleman was still upstairs, and finally found his father packing.

Shit. Well. Of course he was, why would he want to stick around in Ferelden after this?

“Father,” Dorian said quietly. There were informal titles for one’s parents even in Tevinter, but if Dorian called him papa, he’d probably end up bawling all over him and Maker knew that wasn’t happening. Miraak was the only man he felt comfortable crying all over.

Halward Pavus stopped, stared and turned to Dorian, blood draining form his face.

“Dorian,” he breathed. “I… did not know you were coming back.”

“Nor did I,” Dorian said sombrely. “Look, Miraak and Alistair aren’t with me, Alistair had some research to do and Miraak… well, he’s a darling and I love him, but he’s ridiculously protective of his loved ones and I felt this conversation might go better if he wasn’t in the corner radiating magically charged disapproval. But he’s still watching. This thing? It’s the Eye of Miraak. It’s watching you to make sure no blood magic happens. Anything happens to me, Miraak will know about it and this time, Alistair won’t intervene, in fact he’ll probably help.”

Halward was shaking his head, grieved to hear it.

“Dorian, it was not my intention… I did not come here to harm you. I came because I feared for you. Your brute of a consort has not reassured me on that score.”

“He’s not…! All right, he is, but if his sole experience of someone is that they once performed blood magic on someone he loves with the intent of making it impossible for them to love him any more, he’s not going to take it lying down!” Dorian sighed. “I’m here, aren’t I? I talked him out of further violence. And he agreed to keep his distance. The Eye is a compromise, a means for me to summon assistance. Yes, I know, it’s sad it’s necessary… but it is. And it is your actions made it so.”

Lump in Dorian’s throat but he shoved it down. Stay angry, Dorian. Remember Miraak’s beautiful cheekbones and that if Halward had had his way, Dorian would have been left thinking there was nothing special about them. Nothing special??

Those cheekbones were proof the Maker existed and loved Dorian very much, and Dorian took strength from thinking about them.

“Dorian… I am sorry,” Halward said softly. “I felt I had no choice. The lifestyle you were living – it was a road to ruin. I felt… I felt if I acted… maybe you would finally be able to be happy.”

“Happy??” Dorian gasped, the world going briefly dark which was not a good sign, it meant his magic was fighting for expression, and the Eye was gearing up too. Dorian breathed and got himself calmer, with an effort.

“Father, with all due respect, parents who loved me for me would have made me happy,” Dorian sighed. “As it is… I’m actually glad it worked out how it did. It meant I came here with no ties back home, and meant I was free to love Miraak. I do, you know. Freely. I suppose you actually got your wish. I am happy with him. Ridiculously so. I don’t expect you to understand. But it is true.”

“Was he why you joined the Inquisition,” Halward said bitterly, glancing up at him. “Just because of a pretty face.”

“No!” Dorian cried. “I never even saw him with the mask off before I joined properly. I sought him out because Gereon Alexius had joined the Venatori and was ruining time and space using magic I helped develop. I needed help and the Inquisition were the only game in town. I didn’t for one moment expect the Herald to develop an immediate crush and start helping because it was me asking… but I was never going to complain. When I finally got round to joining properly, I had no idea what was going to happen, wasn’t sure if there was even a relationship on offer. But Miraak and I had seen the future, had seen what happened if the Inquisition failed. Mostly we believed it was Miraak’s absence causing that. But part of me wanted to believe it was down to me not being there either. Arrogance, maybe. But I realised I couldn’t walk away and leave this to sort itself out. So I joined. To help, however I could. I wasn’t expecting Miraak to welcome me with open arms and ask me on a dinner date. I definitely wasn’t expecting him to take off the mask and reveal the literal face of an angel. Those were… very compelling reasons to stay. But I didn’t join because I wanted Miraak. I joined because it was the right thing to do! And once I had a father who would have known that!”

Halward had sat down, listening without a word, head lowered. If Dorian hadn’t known better, he could almost think Halward ashamed. And then his father’s next words shocked him to the core.

“Once I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed. I ask your forgiveness but I don’t expect it. I merely wished to make sure you had not fled from one danger to another. And that the Inquisitor is not taking advantage of you.”

Advantage?? As if Dorian’s biggest fear hadn’t been that people might think he was taking advantage of Miraak.

“No,” Dorian said softly, perching on the bed, not facing his father, but capable of turning if he needed to. “He’s literally spoiling me rotten. I’ve been more worried about people thinking I’m taking advantage of him.”

“What??” Dorian hadn’t expected his father to sound that shocked. “As if you’d do that! You’re the most stubbornly independent person I know, Dorian. A trait I think you inherited from me. We are more alike than you think, you know.”

Something almost like amusement in his voice, and Dorian wanted to tell him off, he truly did… but this was something almost like parental approval and he couldn’t quite do it.

“I’m sorry, father, I think I missed the part where you ran away from home, joined a new Andrastian religious movement and fell in love with the Maker’s Chosen to try and save the world.”

“Perhaps I might have if the Maker’s Chosen had come when I was a younger man with no ties,” Halward Pavus said, sounding almost wistful, and Dorian looked sharply up at that, having to wonder. 

Presumably the Maker’s Chosen would also have to have been a beautiful woman because in no way could Dorian bring himself to entertain the idea that his father was attracted to men as well but had been sacrificing himself for the good of the family his entire life. That was too awful to contemplate.

Halward wasn’t meeting his eyes either, and the regretful look on his face could mean anything.

“And yet your first thought on hearing I was doing it was to come and find me to try and talk me out of it,” Dorian said, still not sure he understood his father at all.

“Can you blame me,” Halward sighed. “Dorian, you were always such an angry young man. You had so many good qualities, but inside you there was a part of you hellbent on destroying yourself. I was trying to save you from it. After you left, I… I knew I’d lost you and yet I couldn’t bear the thought of you out there suffering. The helplessness was the worst part, that and knowing it was my fault. I would have given anything to talk to you again, tell you I was sorry. And yet I knew you’d never consent to talk to me. That stubborn pride again. When I heard you’d joined the Inquisition… I had to come and find you. I feared you were seeking a way to die a hero. When I heard of the attack on Haven, I feared you gone forever but had to be sure. When I heard you’d not only survived but were the Herald of Andraste’s lover… that was when I contacted the Inquisition’s Revered Mother. I needed to see you. I could not believe that you weren’t being used by Lord Miraak for his own nefarious purposes. That man is not safe, Dorian. That man oozes power, and I cannot trust he’ll never misuse it. If he does… you will be first in the path of danger. Dorian, please. Please promise me if he harms you, you won’t stay with him. Please promise you will let me help you.”

Dorian was about to snap a retort along the lines of he’d likely still be safer with Miraak, but he saw the fear in his father’s eyes and his anger died. He also remembered Liriel worrying about something similar and giving him an escape route.

“He’s not like that,” Dorian said softly. “He’s had his own problems, but he is not a bad man at heart. Proud, overbearing, a very strong sense of self-esteem… but he’s generous to a fault, one of the most honest people I know, and if he sees you as one of his people, will go to the ends of the earth to make sure you have what you need. I’ve had to constantly try and talk him out of doing that for me. He genuinely cares, father. And he cares about me very much. Only you have to understand, he comes from a culture where the first duty of a man is to protect his family from harm and ensure they are provided for, and if you cannot manage that, you don’t deserve to call yourself Atmoran. His own father drummed that into him from a young age. He still judges himself by it. Anyone who tries to harm a loved one of his, he feels morally obliged to turn on with force. I’m afraid you caught that today. I recommend you don’t get on his bad side again. I’m officially his partner now. As in, on the Inquisition’s personnel records as that. Any harm comes to me, he’s morally obliged to retaliate in kind. I… feel I should object but in all honesty, I don’t. I’ve never truly had someone in my corner before. Someone who adores me, thinks I’m amazing and has my back regardless. But he does. He thinks I’m the most beautiful man on the planet and will defend me to the death, and when he says things like that, you can’t help but believe them. I’m not here to destroy myself, father. For once in my life, I’m very keen not to. Because losing me would break his heart and I can’t do that to him.”

It would probably also result in large areas of Thedas being razed by dragon fire, but Dorian decided not to tell his father that part. 

Halward still didn’t look convinced, but he wasn’t arguing either.

“You will not be talked out of this, will you. I know that look too well. But… you were distressed earlier, I thought I would never see you again, yet here you are. Changing your mind… on some things at least. Seeming to be on a better, or at least less self-destructive past. How is it you’ve returned less than two hours later looking so much healthier and happier.”

“You know how,” Dorian said softly. “I spent that time in Miraak’s arms. Not doing anything. Just letting him hold me. I must have gone through all the stages of grief in about thirty minutes and Miraak just held me and comforted me and wouldn’t leave.”

He glanced up at the floating Eye and reached out to stroke it, loving the way it seemed to channel a little of his lover’s fierce strength, picking his emotions up all by itself. And then the damned thing followed his fingertips, moving in closer, warm to the touch and even vibrating a little.

Dorian held it in his lap, stroking it and smiling, hoping Miraak could feel this at least a little.

“He’s a force of nature all on his own, you see,” Dorian said, unable to keep the smile off his face. “Like a second sun. The stories exaggerate but when he’s there and smiling at you, it’s very easy indeed to believe he’s the Herald of Andraste. And if he believes in you and thinks you’re worth something, it’s hard not to start believing it yourself. He’s seen me at my whiny, petulant worst and he still loves me. He just held me and listened and let me wail at him and… even though he disapproves strongly of me coming back out here, he still agreed. That’s him, father. That’s the man I love. Just having him around helps. I don’t think he even realises how much sometimes.”

Dorian stroked the orb, smiling as he always did when he thought of his amatus pulling him into his arms. He didn’t notice his father seeing all this and realising the inevitable.

“You truly care for him, don’t you.”

“Of course I do,” Dorian sighed. “Would I be at his side near constantly if I didn’t?”

“No, I suppose not,” Halward said softly. “Ah, my son. This is not what I would have chosen for you… but what do I know. What I do know is you seem more content now than I have seen you in a long time. And that when your emotions got the better of you before, you called to Miraak for support and he gave it without hesitation. I don’t think I can like the man but if he is important to you, if he is worthy of your trust and affection… I will not stand in your way. Do as you must, my son. If the Inquisition truly can live up to its claims, I will be honoured to be able to say my son was part of it.”

“What, you mean that?” Dorian said, turning to his father in shock, having not expected that at all. And Halward Pavus nodded, something like pride in his eyes.

“Yes, my son, I do. I have regrets. Many, many regrets in my life. But having come here, seen you for myself… I don’t fear for you any more. Son, you have to know I feel nothing but remorse for how we treated you. I don’t expect forgiveness. But to see you well and happy and loved and doing something important… it’s more than I dreamed possible. I hope and pray this works out for you and Miraak is all you claim he is.”

Dorian didn’t speak. Couldn’t, because if he did, he’d probably start crying and that’d probably set the Eye off, and that was all he needed, his father getting Bend Willed and an angry Miraak hauling him home just as they’d finally reached some sort of truce. All he could do was nod, and Halward Pavus actually smiled.

“Now, you said something earlier about Gereon breaking time and space? You have to know the entire Magisterium is talking about it, but no one seems to know anything concrete. Would you be able to tell me about it? I have acquaintances who would love to know more.”

Meaning he might be able to salvage his political reputation as a result, particularly if he was able to tell people he’d mended bridges with his son in the process. Still, it might help the Inquisition. Maker alone knew what sort of stories had got back to Minrathous. 

So Dorian told the story and Halward Pavus listened, and father and son were, if not exactly reconciled, no longer bitter enemies… and both seeing the other rather better than they had before. And when they eventually parted, and Halward awkwardly gave Dorian one of his business cards and told him to write to him at his Magisterium office, Dorian agreed and impulsively hugged his father goodbye.

It would take a long while before Dorian could trust and forgive his father… but he still had one, and Halward Pavus’s approval meant the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been a fan of the game leaving it up to you to decide if Dorian reconciles with his father or not, and I'm even less of a fan of the way some people seem to think that if you pick the reconciliation option, you thereby condone homophobia and conversion therapy (clearly I don't)? Life and families are always rather more complicated than that, and I tried to do that here by a) leaving the choice to Dorian (Miraak would happily have killed Halward, we can thank Alistair that didn't happen) and b) writing in the eventual conversation, don't think I've seen anyone do that before! It's not exactly reconciliation, but it's a start.
> 
> The orb deserved a name, and it seemed less egomaniacal coming from Dorian.
> 
> Next chapter starts moving away from Dorian's messed up family of origin to Alistair's as he starts his research and finds out he's been seriously misled.


	20. Found Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian will need a chance to recover from meeting his father again, but it turns out Alistair has had his own emotional revelations to deal with. Nurturing is not exactly Miraak's strong point but for his family, he'll make sure they're taken care of. Plus he's always at his best with an objective to pursue, and tracking down Alistair's mother sounds worth pursuing. Little does he know what else it'll open up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Found Family takes shape in this one! Alistair's past comes to light as he starts investigating his mother properly, there's a new arrival at Skyhold and it turns out Miraak's secretly after a kid.

The chantry was in a lot better state than when Miraak had first seen it. Calmer, quieter, pews back in place and looking as if services were regularly held here again – Miraak was no Andrastian, but he did like the atmosphere. Also he’d first laid eyes on Dorian here. It would always be special because of that.

Miraak flicked his attention back to his orb, making sure Dorian was all right. Conversation under way. The two men sitting down. No magic thankfully. It had better stay that way.

The orb would summon him if he was needed. Until then he’d have to try and put it out of his mind. Which Miraak knew full well was near impossible without something else to focus on.

Something like Alistair, who was there, papers in front of him, head in his hands.

His brother as well?? Miraak was definitely going to have to fight something on the way back, take it all out on a bandit or something. His two new close kinfolk, clearly both having terrible days? Someone needed killing.

Miraak took a seat on the pew next to Alistair, carefully removing the mask and putting it between them.

“You are troubled,” Miraak observed, not sure how to approach this. Alistair wasn’t great at receiving comfort, Miraak had guessed that much. Not from Miraak anyway.

“Yeah? What gave it away?” Alistair snapped, and then he hung his head, sighing. “Sorry. Not your fault. Ugh. I was hoping I’d find nothing. But… fuck, Miraak. Look at this.”

He shoved a death certificate into Miraak’s hands – two in fact. One of a woman who’d died in childbirth thirty years ago… and the birth and death certificate of her newborn son.

“What is this,” Miraak said, frowning. “Are they kin of yours?”

Alistair actually laughed. 

“Kin? No, it turns out. She’s the woman they always said was my mother. She died giving birth to me. Except for the part where her son died less than a day after being born.”

“You were a twin?” Miraak asked and Alistair shook his head, pointing at the day of death.

“No. That date? Five months after I was born. I’m no expert on midwifery but pretty sure that’s not how pregnancy works.”

Alistair looked up, face furious but tears glimmering in his eyes.

“They lied to me,” Alistair said bitterly. “My entire life, they lied to me about who my mother was. Arl Eamon would have destroyed this too if he could. I’m not who I thought I was. She might even be alive! She might… Maker, Miraak, I thought I’d find nothing and Varric would owe me a pint, and I’d owe Leliana a favour but… turns out Varric might be right?”

“Right about what?” Miraak asked. “I thought you seemed keen on revisiting Redcliffe. What made you look into your family history?”

“Varric had this crazy theory Grand Enchanter Fiona was my mother, based on nothing more than her fussing over me too much. Which is ridiculous but… now I have to wonder. I came here to verify my mother’s death details but all I found out was that she’s not even my mother? And Eamon hid it. Gave me a whole false identity, but didn’t hide who my father had been which means he must have known as well. I… didn’t think my opinion of my father could have got any lower but it has. It really has.”

Miraak put an arm round Alistair and held him close, feeling for him. They’d definitely have to seek out a fight on the way back. Alistair thoroughly deserved the chance to take his anger out on something.

“Then we’ll find her,” Miraak said softly. “We’ll find your mother. Did you say you’d spoken to Leliana?”

“Yeah, asked her how easy it’d be to find out what King Maric was doing nine months before my birth. Then you gave her that mission to root out the Venatori agents infiltrating Anora’s palace, and she told me it’d be simplicity itself if there’s anything to find. I’m actually dreading what she’s going to come back with.”

Miraak was now intrigued himself. 

“We’ll find her,” Miraak promised. “We’ll get answers. She might not have had a choice in the matter, you know. Or maybe she’s dead.”

“Thanks, mate,” Alistair said softly, before glancing up and putting a hand on Miraak’s thigh. “Hey, I know I call you all sorts of things but… your heart’s in the right place, you know. I’m glad you’re here.”

Miraak gave him a hug and a pat on the back, before getting up and pulling him to his feet.

“Shall we go to the tavern and wait for Dorian?” Miraak asked. “I believe he’ll need company when he’s finished with his father.”

“Yeah, sure – wait. He went back to talk to his dad?? And you let him?”

“I don’t own him, Dorian,” Miraak said tersely. “He can do as he pleases. And once his emotions had calmed, he wished to speak with his father before he left. I agreed. Don’t fear. I sent the orb with him. If he is in need, it will summon me. But it will be easier to come to his aid if we are already in the tavern, no?”

That it would. So Alistair gathered up the papers and followed Miraak out. It was always easier helping other people with their problems than dealing with his own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Dorian entered the main tavern bar and while he’d suspected Miraak would be in here brooding, he’d not expected Alistair to be there too, still less Miraak unmasked and the two of them seeming in a good mood, with Miraak’s arm draped round Alistair’s shoulders and Alistair leaning into Miraak’s chest.

That brought a lump to Dorian’s throat and not from jealousy either. They just both seemed content. And then the Eye of Miraak whizzed past his head, meriting a few gasps from various patrons, but Miraak just glanced up, held out his free hand, watched while the orb settled into it, and let go of Alistair to put it away.

Alistair saw this, looked up, saw Dorian and was moving immediately, practically pouncing on Dorian to hug him.

“Dorian! Mate! Are you all right? Are you… still you? Not blood magicked? Still fancy Miraak?”

Dorian smiled and cuddled Alistair, because yes, yes he did, he adored that man beyond all reason and then he could smell Miraak moments before his arms were round them both and that glorious blond hair was falling over him.

“Yes,” Dorian breathed. “A thousand times yes, I still find Miraak attractive, Maker, the muscles.”

Chuckle from Miraak that set Dorian’s spine tingling.

“Of course you do, I’m magnificent,” Miraak purred, kissing his forehead. “Ah, Dorian. Are you all right. What happened.”

Dorian really didn’t want to think about his father right now, he wanted to be warm and safe in a handsome man’s arms and forget everything. And what luck, two of them were cuddling him.

“Can we go back to the castle?” Dorian whispered. “Please?”

Of course they could. So it was all back to the castle, and to Dorian’s surprise, Miraak sent Alistair off to get changed out of his armour then come back.

“What’s going on?” Dorian asked, surprised. Miraak said nothing, closing the door then backing Dorian up against it, lips meeting his as Miraak pressed his full weight against him, hands cupping his cheekbones, and Dorian momentarily lost the ability to form thoughts.

“Mine,” Miraak breathed in between kissing him. “They will not take you from me!”

Dorian should really tell him off about that but unfortunately his cock had other ideas and was really quite keen on territorial Miraak. So Dorian reached out for Miraak and started kissing him back, arms holding him tight, fingers weaving into that glorious blonde mane and tugging just so, and Miraak moaned into his ear.

“Alistair needs me – us,” Miraak murmured into his ear. “Which is why he is returning soon and then the three of us are building a nest on the Arl’s guest bed and cuddling. Ugh, this language of yours is inadequate to the task, Atmoran has better words for this. Non-sexual intimacy through touch, it’s the best I can do. But before he comes back… I wanted you in my arms. Just for a time.”

Dorian really would have preferred being flung down on the bed and fucked hard by his beloved Dragonborn but a three-man cuddle involving Alistair the Ridiculously Adorable had a way of getting his attention. It was certainly worth postponing sex for anyway.

“After Alistair’s gone back to his own room, we are going to do some brutally depraved things that would horrify my parents, right?” Dorian whispered and Miraak’s eyes lit up as he nodded.

“Whatever you’ve got in mind, I’ll give you,” Miraak promised, trailing his finger down Dorian’s cheek, and while normally Dorian did not care for being dominated in bed, there was something about having Miraak do it that made him realise why some people went to the lengths they did to seek it out. At the very least, Dorian found he was capable of letting it happen occasionally and not feeling abused and demeaned afterwards. Very hard to do that when he’d come hard and then had Miraak cuddling him and kissing him and stroking his skin and whispering thanks, gratitude and how much he loved him and how beautiful he was.

Later. Dorian could be patient. Also the three-way cuddle in the tavern had been nice and he could stand to do more of it. So Dorian kissed Miraak, carefully slipped out from under him and went to the bed.

“This building a nest thing. How do we do it.”

“You… don’t know?” 

Miraak looked uncomprehending and Dorian could feel himself going red and then had to admit that no, he’d never done this before.

“I never had siblings and you know what my parents are like!” Dorian sighed. “How do we…” He gestured at the bed and Miraak sighed and came over to help, shedding the heavy outer robes and stripping down to his vest, and under his direction, a nest of blankets and cushions materialised. And when Alistair knocked and shyly shuffled in, Miraak practically bounced over, hugged him and dragged him to the bed, much to Alistair’s alarm.

“Miraak, what??” Alistair gasped. “I’m not OK with this! I’m married!”

Miraak paused as it belatedly occurred to him this could be misinterpreted.

“Krosis. Nothing sexual is happening. But you and Dorian both need a cuddle. So. The three of us will nest on the bed and cuddle. We’ll remain clothed, but take off your boots and shed the outer layers if you need to. No kissing. No touching below the waist. You can be in the middle if you want. Or we can swap places. Up to you. But zeymah, do not tell me you do not need it.”

Alistair stared at him, several emotions warring on his face at once, then his lower lip trembled and he launched himself into Miraak’s arms, face down on Miraak’s shoulders, and Miraak rubbed his back, rocking him gently in his arms before leading him to the bed and handing him over to Dorian, who just held out his arms and pulled him to him.

“There, there, my friend,” Dorian told him. “Tell me all about it.”

Miraak got in behind him, blankets and cushions and pillows were summoned and arranged and soon Alistair was warm and safe and being snuggled, and after a little prompting, was pouring his heart out about not being who he thought he was and his mother might still be alive, and Varric suspected Grand Enchanter Fiona but Alistair was sure that was rubbish but…

“My mum might be alive,” Alistair finished. “My mum, Dorian! I might have a mum…”

And then he couldn’t stop himself, crying all over Dorian’s fancy leather outfit, and Dorian and Miraak both moved to cuddle him at once, holding him and saying nothing, and Alistair was not remotely used to this and normally would have felt too ashamed to even ask anyone other than Bethany for this, but here, now, it felt natural and safe and right.

“I’m sorry,” Alistair whispered. “I didn’t mean to… oh god, we came here for Dorian’s Dad and I didn’t even ask if you were all right!”

“It’s all right,” Dorian told him. “My tangled family relations don’t need to be your problem. Bad enough Miraak’s involved. I did tell him he didn’t need to be involved either but he wouldn’t have it.”

“Of course he bloody didn’t,” Alistair sighed, patting Dorian’s cheek. “Mate. I’m your friend. Your partner adopted me. You need anything, we’ll help you. You can tell us this stuff, you know.”

“This argument has been had, zeymah,” Miraak said from behind Alistair, amused. “Dorian is not used to having family members he can rely on. You may have to persevere if you detect he has a problem.”

Alistair just shook his head, exasperated. 

“Bloody hell, not you as well, Bethany must have spent years working on me to get me to do the same and stop making a joke out of everything. Come on. Talk.”

So Dorian did, telling them both all about the conversation and finishing that things were still awkward and Dorian hadn’t forgiven his father by a long shot… but that Halward Pavus had given his blessing to both Dorian’s membership of the Inquisition, and his relationship with Miraak.

“But you’re to write to him at his office, not the house,” Alistair said, frowning. “So he’s given his blessing but doesn’t want your mum knowing?”

“His mother’s evil,” Miraak told him and Dorian spluttered at that.

“She’s not – she’s just got opinions. And is a woman of faith and… oh god. My mother might be evil.”

“She used to beat him,” Miraak added. “For not being masculine enough. Ridiculous.”

“And even your dad thinks she’s never going to forgive or accept you, bloody hell,” Alistair breathed, and then he took Dorian in his arms, letting him rest his head on his chest then rolling on to his back so he could put his free arm round Miraak.

Dorian made a noise that sounded like a sob, and then he reached out with his free hand and took Miraak’s in his, squeezing it tight and saying nothing, closing his eyes as the truth hit him. He’d always known his mother was disappointed in him, of course. He’d never exactly felt loved by her. But all the same, it still hurt. 

“It’s fine,” Dorian whispered. “I didn’t expect anything else.”

“She’s your mother, Dorian, it is not fine,” Miraak said softly. “You deserved better.”

Dorian squeezed his hand again then opened his eyes, sad smile on his face. 

“I met you, didn’t I,” Dorian said, eyes meeting Miraak’s across Alistair’s chest, which was not a location either had expected to be holding hands over and yet somehow neither minded.

“Yes you did,” Miraak said, smiling. “I know it’s not the same, but you are my lokaal and I will take care of you. And you, zeymah. You are my family now. I will not see either of you lost and lonely. You know that. Nothing is restoring my mother to me, but I can protect you from yours, lokaal. And you, Alistair. I’ll help find yours.”

Alistair hugged them both, not saying a word, because he wasn’t sure if this was a promise Miraak could even keep. But it meant the world Miraak was promising to try.

And then Dorian spoke up, quietly, hesitantly, not sure he should even suggest this but doing it anyway.

“There might be a way,” Dorian said, glancing up at Alistair. “I think Liriel could find her. She could track dragon blood, it’s how she found Miraak… and you for that matter. Only, well, this is going to be awkward. It involves blood magic.”

“It what,” Alistair said, sitting up even as Miraak shrugged.

“It’s likely Reach-magic, of course it does,” he said, and then he noticed Alistair staring at him incredulously.

“It’s bloody taboo across all Thedas, Miraak!” Alistair cried. “Maker, you’re seriously suggesting we use blood magic to find my mother?” Oh my god, Miraak. If that gets out, you’ll be branded a maleficar. No one’ll follow you!”

“Then we make sure no one finds out,” Miraak said, thinking this over. “You suspect Grand Enchanter Fiona? That helps. We can get her alone for testing after Leliana’s reported her findings. If the only people who know are the three of us, Liriel and Fiona herself… who will know. If negative, Fiona never knows we even did it. If positive… she will have rather more to concern herself with.”

“ _I’d_ know!” Alistair whispered. “Fucking hell.”

Then a pause, because while Alistair was no fan of blood magic, the prospect of confirming his mother’s identity was hard to resist.

“It won’t hurt her? Or anyone else?”

“It’s going to need a sample of your own blood, and I’m sure that won’t be painless,” Dorian told him. “But there shouldn’t be any harmful effects. I mean, I saw Liriel cast it to find Miraak at Haven, and by her own admission she used the same spell to find you, although she wasn’t intending to.”

“I didn’t even know she was casting it,” Alistair admitted. “Alright. I’ll do it but we have got to keep this quiet. It cannot get out.”

“It won’t,” Miraak promised. “I’ll talk to Liriel, find out what we can do. Don’t worry, there will be no trouble contriving an excuse to bring Fiona to my quarters for some meeting or other. Dorian happens to be there studying, and you and Liriel can hide on the balcony. Trivial to organise.”

“Right,” Alistair whispered, still wrapping his head around this… but if it worked? He had to know. He had questions. And even if it wasn’t Fiona, they might be able to trace his actual mother.

Alistair pulled them both to him, hugging them fiercely. Family. He had a family. Not just Bethany, or the Wardens, but an actual family taking shape. He’d never in his life expected this, and it meant the world.

“Miraak,” Alistair said softly. “I’m sorry I’ve been an arse to you. You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“Perhaps I want to know as well,” Miraak said, snuggling closer, and really, who knew that underneath the tentacle mask, the dread Inquisitor was a sentimental cuddler. Alistair never would have suspected, but he wasn’t complaining. Family. He had a family. Might have a mother. That was a scary thought. But with the First Dragonborn at his back, things had a way of looking a lot less terrifying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The journey back to Skyhold was uneventful and in the end, Miraak did not need to go out and kill things after all. Apparently regular cuddling sessions with his brother and lover had a way of soothing them all.

Miraak definitely didn’t need and rely on physical touch for his psychological wellbeing. Miraak did not get lonely. Miraak needed none of this affection. He did all this for his kin’s wellbeing, that was all.

And yet if it didn’t happen, he’d feel sad and not know why. It was pathetic. Ridiculous. A weakness. But one Miraak couldn’t help but indulge. If it reminded him of being a boy and building a fur cave and hiding in it with Halbard and Greta, that was no one’s business but Miraak’s.

Back in the Great Hall, and Alistair left to find Leliana for an update, but Mother Giselle was waiting to greet Miraak and Dorian, warm smile on her face to see Dorian still here, still with his arms round Miraak.

“You did not go with your family,” Giselle noted, pleased. “Good. The Inquisition needs you, Messere… as does its Inquisitor.”

Miraak smiled and hugged Dorian, not seeing any point in denying it.

“I would miss him,” Miraak told her. “He knows this.”

“With all due respect to my father, Mother, the Inquisition cause is important,” Dorian said, doing a credible job of concealing his own feelings. “I can’t just leave all this to sort itself out. And I won’t have it said Tevinter landed the world with Corypheus then did nothing to help deal with it. I need to be here and I need to be seen to be helping. And Miraak’s been kind enough to keep me around.”

That was one way of putting it.

“Kindness had nothing to do with it,” Miraak said, planting a kiss on Dorian’s head. “He lights up my life just by being here and I would not be without him now.”

The pink blush on Dorian’s cheeks was more than worth it.

“Miraak, Mother Giselle doesn’t need to…” Dorian whined, snuggling into Miraak and hiding his face, and Miraak grinned and hugged him.

“He hates public displays of affection,” Miraak said, really rather enjoying this. 

“From what I know of Tevinter, it is unusual for nobles to speak openly of romantic attachments, most likely because they are in addition to their marriages. Orlais is not dissimilar in that regard. Your culture was different, I see.”

“Life is too short to pretend you don’t have feelings when you do,” Miraak told her, hoping Dorian took that to heart. “Isn’t it, fariik?”

Dorian just muttered something and snuggled in, and Mother Giselle laughed and told them she’d steal no more of their time, but that she hoped whatever had transpired had been concluded satisfactorily.

Miraak glanced down at Dorian, because only he could really answer that one. And Dorian did look up, nodding sombrely.

“He’s sorry for what happened,” was all Dorian could say. “I will take rather longer to forgive him, but we’re staying in touch. And he’s decided to support my Inquisition membership. Apparently he was convinced this whole thing was me seeking to put an honourable end to myself.”

He’d not said that to Miraak previously, and Miraak could not hide the flinch. And without the mask on, the horrified expression was obvious.

“You didn’t tell me this!” Miraak cried.

“It wasn’t why I joined!” Dorian protested. “He got that idea into his head because… because all he could see was the me he saw in Tevinter, wasting my life as he’d put it. I didn’t want to die, I never wanted to die, I just… didn’t think my life was worth much. Something my parents helped cause!”

Mother Giselle looked on, sympathy in her eyes, and Miraak wrapped both arms round Dorian, kissing the top of his head.

“You are worth the world to me,” he said softly, and Dorian, thankfully, smiled and looked up at him.

“I know,” Dorian said, stroking Miraak’s face. “Honestly, I think you changed his mind about my reasons for joining. Hard to think I’m hell-bent on a path to self-destruction when you’re right there clearly willing to do whatever it takes to keep me alive and protect me.”

“First duty of an Atmoran man is to protect and provide for his kin,” Miraak said, feeling a little awkward himself. “Of course I would do it.”

“Your protective instincts are obvious to all, my lord,” Giselle said, smiling proudly at them both. “They are one of your greatest strengths, that you will lend your own power to protect those in need. Do that, Miraak. Do that, and whatever else happens, you are doing the Maker’s will. As for your own relationship, all can see the love you have for each other. Notably because we can see your face now. Before you met him, none saw you without that mask. You were an intimidating presence, my lord. Now? You stopped wearing it in Haven. And you don’t wear it indoors in Skyhold. It makes you more approachable. More human. And all can see how happy you are, especially with Dorian in your arms. It is obvious to all that this was his doing.”

“Of course it was, keeping that beautiful face hidden is a crime against the Maker!” Dorian gasped, his turn to take pleasure in Miraak blushing now. “I’ve been working on him. Slowly but surely.”

“The work has paid off,” Giselle said, approving. “I don’t know about a crime against the Maker, but it was harming you, I think. You are better for it. And we will all be better off for you being your best self.”

“I… thank you,” Miraak said, feeling a bit lost for words. “Mother, you no longer think he’s taking advantage of me then?”

Giselle shook her head. 

“No, messere. It was wrong of me and I humbly ask forgiveness of you both. Hard to believe he’s taking advantage of you once you see the real Dorian Pavus, and realise he’d go to the lengths of giving his own life to save you from harm.”

Miraak tightened his grip on Dorian because that was not happening on his watch, not now, not ever.

“That will never be necessary,” Miraak growled, feeling Dorian in his arms and knowing that his Thu’um was strong enough to protect them both. It wasn’t Dorian’s job to protect him!

“I imagine so, yes,” Giselle said, smiling in agreement. “Well, I will take up no more of your time, messeres. Doubtless you have much to discuss. Maker be with you both.”

Giselle took her leave, and Miraak took Dorian’s face in his hands.

“Don’t give your life for mine,” Miraak whispered. “Don’t! I cannot go through that again.”

“I know,” Dorian said softly, sadness in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I was so afraid you and me being together would cause trouble for you, part of me felt it might be better if I just… left.”

“No!” Miraak gasped, pulling Dorian to him. “No, don’t you dare! I… Dorian. No. Don’t leave me. Please.”

He’d not meant to sound that needy, but the other option was ranting and raging at him and that… that had killed Saering in the end. He couldn’t do it to Dorian.

“I won’t,” he heard Dorian whisper back. “I promise, Miraak. I won’t leave you.”

Miraak closed his eyes, the faces of dead loved ones flashing before him, and not just his family. Friends. Colleagues. His military commander. His steward. Soldiers prepared to give their lives for him. All dead now. Wiped out by the vengeful Dov. And that had come about because he’d lost Saering.

He couldn’t lose anyone else, and he couldn’t lose Dorian. Not to Corypheus, his father or Dorian’s own dark side. 

Dorian was the most precious thing in Miraak’s life. Miraak would do whatever it took to keep him in it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So what did you find?” Alistair asked. “Anything?”

Leliana motioned for him to sit down, not smiling.

“Assuming the date of birth they gave you is accurate? It’s interesting. We searched records for the year before and after. I was after your father’s appointments schedule primarily but I also checked their employee records for wet-nurse hires. If you were ever there, maybe born in Denerim even, they might have hired someone to feed you.”

Alistair would literally never have thought of that.

“Did you find anything?” he whispered. “I mean… in Redcliffe… I found my mother’s death certificate, but she died five months after I was born, and her son with her. I didn’t think there was anything to it until that point, but Varric might be right? She wasn’t my real mother, so who was?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Leliana said thoughtfully. “But I have information. We found records for a wet-nurse hire six months after your birth. But she was only employed for a few weeks. Unusual unless the child died, but the local Chantries had no record of any child funerals associated with the palace. Fortunately, she was still alive and living in Denerim, so we interviewed her. You know, it’s amazing how many doors the Herald of Andraste’s name opens. She was happy to help Inquisitor Miraak and his beloved foster-brother out.”

“What did she tell you,” Alistair whispered, drawing nearer, needing to know this, compelled to know more. 

“That she’d been wet-nurse to a baby boy called Alistair and lived at the palace to do it,” Leliana said, voice low and quiet. “That she was paid handsomely to keep it quiet. By Loghain Mac Tir of all people. He handled the business. She suspected you were someone’s illegitimate child, maybe even Loghain’s but you didn’t look like him. You still don’t.”

“Loghain Mac Tir, still fucking my life even after he died,” Alistair said, shaking his head. “Go on, what else? Does she know anything else?”

“About your parentage? No, but she did tell me you were no newborn. You were about six months old, and clearly not born in the palace. Your original date of birth is clearly accurate. But you weren’t born in Denerim, you were brought there at six months old. We’re not sure who by. So we went looking. With an accurate date of birth to look for, we could narrow down our search to what King Maric was doing nine months beforehand.”

“What was he up to?” Alistair gasped. “Leli, please, did you find out? You have to tell me, please!”

Leliana sighed, lowering her head. “I wish I could, but that was where it got weird. The King’s court diary is detailed. Every meeting, every potential connection, every moment of his day, chronicled and recorded. But not for that time period. He wasn’t in court. He wasn’t visiting any of his Arls or Banns or travelling abroad. He was on a mission with Grey Wardens, of all things. And the palace records of it are… sparse. Warden records will be even harder to find. But we did have one stroke of luck. Details of the Wardens on that expedition were recorded. One stuck out. An elven Orlesian mage called Fiona.”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Alistair whispered, pieces falling into place. “Yeah, she said. She said she knew my father, they’d been on an expedition while she was still a Warden but she never said when. Nine months before I was born. And you’re sure about this. And that the date of birth’s right, because at this point, everything else about me is turning out completely wrong.”

“Positive,” Leliana told him. “Alistair, are you all right. You look terrible.”

“Yeah – no,” Alistair admitted. “Not really. I’m not OK. Not at all. Excuse me, I need to be alone for a time.”

Leliana let him go, alarm bells ringing. What to do? Interrogate Fiona? Not after Miraak had declared for mage freedom, that would cause more trouble than it was worth. Alistair might not appreciate it either. And he was the Inquisitor’s brother now. If Alistair was unhappy, Miraak would be unhappy. 

Which meant she would need to bring this to him. A problem but an inevitable one. Still, Miraak had a way of getting people to open up. Maybe he could resolve the situation once and for all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_Inquisitor Miraak,_

_Congratulations on the new title. One that could either denote a great hero or a tyrannical horror, and may I say it suits you. At least people will object if you start decking Skyhold out in Hermaeus Mora statuary._

_Anyway, Liriel is out in the Western Approach already so in her absence I took the liberty of opening the letter you sent her. I don’t make a habit out of reading her mail but I do when you’re involved._

_So Alistair wants to find his birth mother, eh? You’re in luck. We can help with that, and we do owe you for the Shout that saved three of my people, so there’s that. Expect a delivery to Skyhold of a box. A heavy one, six feet long. Get it somewhere safe and away from direct sunlight, and make sure it’s opened by you, and only you, at night. I suppose you can have Alistair and Dorian with you. Send everyone else away._

_The portal idea between our keeps is also a good one. The portal team will be accompanying the box. Find somewhere they can set it up and make sure your Templars and that Seeker Cassandra don’t interfere. I doubt they’ll be fans of the ritual required to set it up, but don’t worry, we’ll only need to sacrifice a ram. Fortunately the Inquisition staff here have been rather more accommodating. Charter’s a credit to your organisation._

_The delivery’s already on the way, hopefully this will get here before it does._

_Madanach_  
King of the Reach  
Husband of the prettier Dovahkiin 

Miraak tucked the letter into his waistcoat pocket. It still felt strange being out of his Dragon Priest robes but Dorian had been insistent he branch out a little wardrobe-wise. So here he was in one of the more outdoorsy outfits they’d had on offer, some ensemble called Night’s Watch in the catalogue which Dorian swore would look fantastic with pale skin and blonde hair.

The letter had been on his desk when they’d got back and after spending the afternoon in bed satisfying mutual needs, Miraak had gone to check his desk and found a reply to the letter he’d sent from Redcliffe. He’d spent the next hour complaining to Dorian about pain in the backside in-laws, and at least he could keep the Pavuses at a distance. He was stuck with the Reach-King. Dorian had fussed over him and told him he was by far the prettier Dovahkiin in Dorian’s opinion and that… had actually helped and taken Madanach off both their minds for a bit.

The box had arrived the following day. He’d had it moved to the Inquisition undercroft underneath the Great Hall, with non-Templar guards on it, relieving the Reachmen who’d accompanied it.

The Reachmen had got a lot of unnerved looks, and only two of them were using translation magic, but he’d been able to find them beds with the former rebel mages, and the portal link was going to be up and running within three days.

He’d already had both Vivienne and Cassandra complaining about it. He’d ended up pulling rank on them both, tersely telling them the practical benefits outweighed any other considerations and if Liriel’s people were managing to get it to work without demon incursions, he was sure Skyhold wouldn’t have a problem. Thankfully Leliana had been an enthusiastic backer, and Josephine had advised on how to keep this as a classified piece of Inquisition efforts, and despite definitely losing approval from both of them, Miraak had got it through.

Now he was here with Alistair and Dorian, everyone else sent away, all three staring down at the box. He’d shown Alistair the letter. Alistair had responded by hugging him and telling him he was near certain he’d been conceived on the Wardens expedition that both King Maric and Fiona had been on, and almost certain Fiona might be his mother. Except he had had no idea how to go about it. Leliana had also handed her information over and it was looking more and more likely. But in order to confront her, they needed the final proof. Hence the box.

“So, I don’t want to state the obvious here, but it’s got the dimensions and weight of a coffin with a corpse in it,” Dorian said, eyeing it. “Anyone want to guess why King Madanach is sending us a corpse? Because I can think of several, none of them what you want to hear.”

“It doesn’t smell like one?” Alistair volunteered, but that didn’t mean a lot. Smells could be disguised.

“LAAS!”

No sign of life in that box. Ominous. Still, all they could do was get it open. So Alistair and Miraak crowbarred the lid off to reveal… a velvet drape and cushions underneath it.

“So. Who wants to be brave and pull that back,” Dorian said brightly.

A pause because despite all the horrifying things they’d all seen in their lives, no one knew if this was going to be an addition to that list or not, but in the end Alistair stepped forward.

“What the hell, it can’t be worse than the Blight,” he sighed and pulled the drape back.

Underneath was a deathly pale woman in purple and black and her eyes flicked open to reveal a striking orange colour.

Dead women should not be able to do that.

“Serana??” Alistair gasped. “Are you…? Are you all right?”

“I should say not, she’s dead,” Dorian said, necromancy skills clearly working just fine.

“She’s a vampire,” Miraak said wearily. “A corpse animated by a demon, reliant on blood drinking to sustain itself. You’ve met her before?”

“Yes, she was with Liriel and Madanach when I met them, and could smell the Blight in my blood,” Alistair said, stepping back nervously. “Because she’s a vampire. Right. Right! Oh god.”

“The vampire who only showed up here to help with your family, Alistair,” Serana said irritably, sitting up. “Look, I’m not a threat. I brought blood potions, I’m fully fed, won’t be snacking on anyone in Skyhold. Unless the Templars start hassling me. Or that Seeker woman.”

“We’ll keep them off you,” Miraak promised. “You know how to cast the spell that could track down Dragonborns? And you could do the same to track down Alistair’s mother? We have a suspect. But we need to confirm it.”

“Know the spell?” Serana scoffed. “I came up with the Dragonborn version. Yeah, sure, it’s easy. Help me out of this thing.”

Miraak held out a hand, pulling her to her feet and helping her step out of the crate. It was well-made, he gave it that. Extreme measures but presumably essential for a vampire.

“Did they cart you all the way from Caer Bronach in that thing?” Miraak had to ask. Serana laughed.

“No, of course not. We travelled by night. I slept in it during the day. Only got into it once we got close to Skyhold. It’s not the most comfortable thing but it’s safer than Chantry people on our case. I guess I got too used to the Reach. No one cares there. A few like it. Actually, scratch that – a lot like it. I’ve not had to feed on the unwilling since I moved there.”

“No wonder only the three of us could open this,” Dorian sighed. “Cassandra would be impaling you round about now.”

“I heard,” Serana said, bristling. Behind her, Alistair finished replacing the lid then followed after, and then something else occurred to him.

“Wait. Waaaaittt a second! You’ve got the same eyes Madanach has, and he could smell the Blight on me too. Is he a vampire?? Does Liriel know??”

“Know?” Serana laughed. “She asked me to turn him! She had a year old baby, an elderly husband, he didn’t want to orphan his son. It worked out. Come on, Alistair, you never realised why his office at Caer Bronach always had the windows shuttered?”

“No…” Alistair whispered. “I wasn’t even sure vampires were real. I thought they were more… demony.”

“Oh, I can go demon if you want,” Serana said, smiling and showing the fangs off. “But I prefer looking like this.”

“OK,” Alistair whispered. “I mean, fine? I mean… can we get this over with? It’s only just gone sunset. Still early.”

It was, and so Miraak let Dorian take Alistair and Serana upstairs, while he went in search of Fiona. Dorian indicated for the pair of them to conceal themselves on the balcony above Miraak’s bed, the stairs to which were hidden behind a closet door. Fiona might not even realise it was there, never mind that they were there. All the same, Serana had Alistair arrange a few storage crates as cover.

“You’re a vampire,” Alistair whispered. “A literal maleficar abomination. The Chantry would literally want me to kill you.”

“I’m aware,” Serana said, shivering a little. “Madanach didn’t even want me to come. I’m not sure I would have if the portal team weren’t coming. But… you’re all right. And I know all about dysfunctional families that just use you as a pawn, don’t tell you things you’ve got a right to know and have agendas of their own that don’t align with your interests. Remind me to tell you about my parents some time. Things with my mother are still… awkward. But she’s trying and she’s still my mother. When I heard you were looking for yours… I owed it to you and me both to help.”

Alistair stared at her, lump in his throat because you did not expect abomination maleficars to talk about their families and offer to help because your story reminded them of theirs. Especially at great personal risk to themselves, because Miraak might not be able to protect her if her vampirism was discovered.

“You’re taking a risk,” Alistair whispered. “If they find out…”

“I know but it wouldn't be the first time I knowingly walked into a nest of vampire hunters because it was the right thing to do,” Serana said, smiling. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. Also I’m not staying long. Long enough to do this and sort the portal out, and then it’s home time.”

“Well, if you need help, let me know, I can fake arrest you if you like,” Alistair whispered, warming to her. He wasn’t exactly sold on vampirism but this one was brave if nothing else, and had that same Nordic sense of honour Miraak did. Alistair could respect that.

Then the door to the bedroom opened and Miraak could be heard talking.

“Thank you for seeing me, Grand Enchanter. I appreciate this is a little unorthodox but the war room is too cold for even me at night. And everywhere else is too public. Don’t mind Dorian. He’s too busy trying to conjugate Dovahzul verbs.”

“He really is learning the language?” Fiona said, surprised.

“Yes,” Miraak laughed. “He is. Trying to at any rate. He needs practice. Don’t you, fariiki.”

“I’m _concentrating,_ Miraak,” Dorian said pointedly. “How about we all concentrate on our respective jobs instead of distracting hard-working mages, hmm?”

Serana took Alistair’s hand. He’d already removed his gauntlet and Serana quickly wiped his hand with a sterilising liquid and then did the same to the small steel blade she had. Then one swift flash of metal and Alistair was bleeding before he knew he’d even been cut.

Serana's eyes went black and the blood started to glow and then glowing threads shot out – two golden ones, one of which hit Miraak and the other shooting west, no doubt to find Liriel. Then a reddish-gold thread that also went west and that made Serana gasp.

But the one that had Alistair’s attention was the solid red thread that had shot out from him and was lighting up Fiona like a candle.

“Can she see that?” Alistair whispered.

“No, it’s only visible to you and me,” Serana murmured. “But… it’s a match. She’s your mother.”

Serana shut the spell off and quietly healed Alistair’s hand, skilled enough in illusion magic so that no one heard the chimes. Alistair barely noticed. All he could think was that that was his mother. Grand Enchanter Fiona was his mother. People must have known. Someone must have known. Fuck, _Fiona_ surely knew. And yet she’d never said anything.

_The Wardens wouldn’t have let her keep me. Nor would the Circle. She must have taken me to my father. I don’t suppose she could keep in touch._

Of course, she could also have told him at any point during his Inquisition membership, but he supposed that wasn’t the easiest conversation to have. But…

Eamon must have known. Eamon surely knew Alistair hadn’t been born to any of his staff. And yet no one had ever told him. Why?

Alistair couldn’t take it any more. Getting up, he made for the stairs and kicked the door open.

Miraak looked up sharply, but surprise rapidly gave way to enlightenment dawning as his gaze went to Fiona. Dorian likewise carefully laid down his quill, marked his page and closed his books and got up, carefully positioning himself between Fiona and the exit.

“I think an explanation might be in order,” Dorian said, folding his arms.

“Indeed,” Miraak purred. “Krosis, Grand Enchanter. I may have dissembled to get you here. The real matter I wanted to discuss is certain evidence that turned up in Denerim and Redcliffe. Evidence indicating that Alistair was not born in Redcliffe to one of their servants but somewhere else, to someone else. We’re not sure where exactly but we did find out Alistair was born nine months after King Maric took a leave of absence to go on an expedition to the Deep Roads. An expedition you were also part of. Grand Enchanter, I did note your interest in me adopting Alistair. I wondered why at the time. I believe I now know.”

Fiona had gone pale, green eyes flicking from Miraak to Alistair, horror on her face… and then she lowered her head, defeated.

“So you know,” was all she said. “Inquisitor, I’m sorry…”

“SORRY??” Alistair practically exploded, room throbbing as his developing Thu’um started rising. “You’re my mum, no one ever told me, if it weren’t for Varric of all people guessing, I still wouldn't know, and that’s all you can say and not even to me??”

“You weren’t supposed to know!” Fiona cried. “You were never supposed to… oh Maker.”

Fiona sank to her knees, hands over her face, quite possibly crying, and all eyes went to Alistair who was staring at her in shock.

“You were in on it,” Alistair whispered. “You were in on it too?? Everyone lied to me my entire life and even my own mother… why? WHY?? What was wrong with me??”

Tear’s rolling down Alistair’s face, voice breaking, pain not able to hide any more as all the old wounds ripped open at once.

“Nothing’s wrong with you!” Dorian gasped, staring at him and seeing a man whose wounds mirrored his own, and the growing electric charge in the air rather akin to a storm brewing indicated someone else disapproved too.

“He asked you a question, Grand Enchanter,” Miraak growled, and the reverberation he normally played down was out in full force, a reminder his voice itself was a weapon. “I suggest you answer it.”

Fiona nodded and lowered her hands, still not meeting Alistair’s eyes.

“It was not you, my son,” Fiona managed to get out through her own tears. “It was never you. You were beautiful and perfect back then, and you still are. It was me. You deserved better. Elf-blooded, mage-blooded… I could not do that to you. I asked your father to make sure you never knew your mother was an elf. I wanted you free of the shame…”

Alistair was shaking his head, not understanding at all.

“Why would I be ashamed?” he whispered. “You led the mage rebellion, you’re a hero!”

“Most don’t see it that way,” Fiona said bitterly. “Not even all mages see it that way. I wasn’t even expecting the Inquisitor to see it that way. And I’m still an elf. In Orlais the most shameful thing you can call someone is elf-blooded. I could not do it to you.”

“You asked my father to keep my entire past from me because you were ashamed of being an elf,” Alistair said softly, anger gone at least, but there were still tears. Fiona nodded, still not looking at him, and Alistair did approach her then, kneeling before her and tentatively reaching out, fingers ghosting over her hair and then settling on the back of her head, pulling her to him and taking her in his arms.

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” Alistair gasped. “Fuck Orlais. Fuck the Chantry. Fuck the Circle in particular. I wouldn’t have cared, Mum. I wouldn’t have cared about being elf-blooded. Not if it meant having a mum. I… suppose the Circle stopped that as well.”

“I’m so sorry,” Fiona whispered. “I’m so so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Alistair told her, founding to his surprise he meant it. “I forgive you. Will you… I mean, do you… will you be my mother now?”

Fiona looked up, startled.

“What??”

“Will you be my mum,” Alistair said softly, because despite all the levity and jokeyness, he could be serious when it mattered and it mattered now, more than anything. “Please. I don’t care you’re an elf. I definitely don’t care you’re a mage. I just… I just want my mum.”

Alistair put a hand to his face, feeling tears on his cheeks again and realising he was crying and what Fiona must be thinking of him right now, he had no idea. So it was when he felt her hand on his cheek, he almost cried out in surprise.

Fiona nodded, tears rolling down on her own cheeks and then she’d put her arms around him, taking him in her arms and holding him.

“Yes,” Fiona gasped. “Yes, I’ll be that for you. If you need me, my son… yes.”

Alistair did burst into tears then, holding on to her and crying, and Miraak looked on this, saw, smiled and even the heart of a proud Dovahkiin could be warmed by some things.

“Come, lokaal, let’s let them have their privacy,” he said, taking Dorian’s hand.

“Yes, let’s, I think I hear the tavern calling me,” Dorian said, smiling wistfully back at the two of them. Miraak held the door open and waited while the swarm of bats fluttered over his head then stepped out, Dorian with him.

It was strange, this feeling in his chest. This odd lump in his throat. He’d helped his brother. He’d helped him reunite with his long-lost mother. Miraak hadn’t remotely thought this would affect him other than basking in the resulting gratitude.

But it was. Miraak’s emotions were all over the place. Miraak felt… happy. No, more than happy. The vennesetiid were singing again. The wuldsetiid was… pleased with him?

The wuldsetiid was pleased with him. As if he’d done the right thing.

“Amatus. You’re smiling.”

“So I am,” Miraak said, grin fixed on his face. “We did the right thing tonight, fariiki. I can feel it. The currents of time are delighted with me right now.”

Dorian’s eyebrows shot up and he broke out into a broad grin, and Miraak fell in love with him all over again.

“Kyne, Stuhn and Mara, you’re beautiful,” Miraak breathed, leaning in for a kiss.

“Only the best for my Dragonborn hero,” Dorian murmured back as his lips met Miraak’s for what would have been a truly deep and passionate kiss that would definitely have led to more had someone not coughed.

“Er… you two should know I’m still here.”

Gods damn it. Miraak broke off from Dorian, doing his best to hide his irritation.

“Serana. Thank you. That went as well as it could have. There will be payment, of course. Did you need anything else?”

“Well, I don’t know where my room is yet, unless I’m sleeping in the crypt. Fitting for a vampire, I suppose,” Serana said, shrugging. “But… well… there was something else. An unexpected result on the test. I didn’t use a standard kinfinder, I used my Dovahkiin variant. Our casting revealed three Dragonborns other than Liriel. We found two but we’re still curious about the third. All we know is that they’re in Orlais, south of the Waking Sea. I was hoping to see if I could get additional information on their location by testing from Skyhold. And I did but not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?” Miraak asked, irritation fading as he realised this was worth interrupting the kiss for. Another Dragonborn?? They’d not mentioned this before.

“No, we didn’t but we didn’t have much information ourselves, only that they existed,” Serana told him. “We still don’t know much but… they’re north-west of here, so they’re between Skyhold and the Waking Sea coast in that direction. That narrows it down a lot, but it’s not the most interesting result. For kin, the kinfinder bonds are red. For Dragonborns, they’re gold. This one – on Liriel’s blood it was gold but with Alistair – red AND gold. And it’s a strong bond. A very strong bond. A bond so strong, you only find it with parents and children, or full siblings. Alistair doesn’t have any full siblings because Fiona never had any other kids. His father’s dead. We found his mother. That just leaves…”

“He’s got a child?” Miraak breathed, and he’d _really_ not been expecting to have the reaction he was to that news.

“Apparently so, and it’s got his dragon blood,” Serana said, smiling. “I think we might need to have a word with Alistair in the morning. He never mentioned any kids to us.”

“Nor us,” Dorian said thoughtfully. “He’d have mentioned any children with Bethany, I think.”

He would, and Miraak knew Alistair would never have been unfaithful to her. Alistair was also thirty years old, meaning this child was thirteen at the absolute most and likely younger – Alistair had said that most of his sexual experience had been with Bethany, he’d likely not got started until relatively late, unlike Miraak who’d got started not long after coming of age and escaping to the temple.

A child Dragonborn. A young child Dragonborn, somewhere between around seven and thirteen. Gender unknown. Heritage of mother unknown. Potentially vulnerable. Miraak had to know more.

“Say nothing of this to anyone,” Miraak warned them both. “We cannot have this child’s life risked until we find them. And we will find them. Serana, you need to take this information back to Madanach, then contact me again, I can put you in touch with Leliana’s people in that area. We need to find them, make sure they’re safe, bring them to Skyhold if possible. They probably don’t even know they’re Dragonborn and they’re vulnerable. Their only protection is that no one else knows it either.”

“Yeah of course, no problem – wait. You’re actually worried, aren’t you?” Serana said, sly grin on her face. “The great and powerful Miraak’s worried about a little kid. That’s adorable!”

“Isn’t it,” Dorian said, arms wrapping around Miraak’s waist. “He’s a big softie really. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Hush,” Miraak scolded, turning around and pulling Dorian to him. “That is our nephew or niece’s wellbeing you are talking about, don’t tell me we shouldn’t care.”

“You know nothing about this child, Miraak,” Dorian said wearily. “Don’t adopt the poor thing out of hand. Maybe they’ve got a mother already!”

“They need a Dragonborn uncle,” Miraak said, refusing to be talked out of this one because children! Children kin to him! A young Dragonborn to teach and nurture and… ah, damn it all, Miraak wanted kids and he had a feeling Dorian possibly didn’t. Well, perhaps a mother being already there was a good thing in that case.

“Perhaps, but we won’t know until we find them,” Dorian said, and then despite himself, he smiled. “So I suppose we should do that. I suppose I should get used to being Uncle Dorian, shouldn’t I.”

“Yes. You should,” Miraak said, kissing his forehead and hugging him. “Now. I have a guest to see to. Serana, I will show you your room. Dorian, meet me in the tavern, yes? Serana, you’re welcome to join us if you want.”

“I’ll have to pass, too many people to notice I’m not eating anything,” Serana told him. “But perhaps I’ll have a look round, if that’s OK?”

Miraak assured her it would be fine and escorted her out, mind still buzzing with the thought of being an uncle. An uncle! A child to teach and mentor and nurture with Dorian, and presumably Alistair and this child’s mother as well!

Miraak’s mood could not get any better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragonborn Four is of course Kieran, but Miraak doesn't know that yet. It'll be a while before they make an appearance, but you can believe Miraak will be all over a new member of Clan Dragonborn. Morrigan might be rather less pleased about this.
> 
> Serana won't be at Skyhold permanently, but I think she's going to be a recurring character for at least part of this. I even have a potential ship in mind. You'll see next chapter.


	21. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Job done but Serana has time to kill and exploring Skyhold is first thing on her list, meeting its inhabitants rather lower down. But when one of them proves to be being less than honest, there's consequences to face for both him and Miraak himself as they both have to confront what it means to be a good person and how to find redemption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may ship Serana and Blackwall. Maybe. Either way, they seem to be getting on... only it does mean a certain quest is going to run a little differently. Also Miraak getting infected with morals and hating it is always good for a laugh.
> 
> Warnings for porn at the end - sort of. Miraak and Dorian doing a scene, except Miraak wants some hardcore pain and punishment, and Dorian's more of a fluffy sadist and... I like the way it turned out anyway.

So this was Skyhold. Serana had to admit, it was impressive. On a par with her own childhood home, or would be when all the construction work was finished anyway. It also lacked a stable of thralls and body parts all over the Great Hall tables.

Somehow Serana didn’t see that as a downside. Miraak had shown her to a room just off the balcony overlooking the courtyard, with her sleeping box installed, a door that bolted from the inside and a promise the servants were leaving her alone and she’d have privacy.

He’d left for the tavern, still excited about him and Dorian being uncles, and that was something she never thought she’d see, Liriel’s terrifying nemesis being excited over baby Dragonborns. 

Evil?? This man was not evil. This man was a sentimental softie. A pragmatic one with a ruthless streak who didn’t seem to know when to stop, but a softie nonetheless.

Serana knew what her own father had been like. Now there had been a ruthless power-seeker. She’d expected Miraak to be the same. But no. Here he was, meeting a younger Dragonborn and seeing not a bitter rival but a younger brother to be fussed over, and he’d gone out of his way to find the man’s birth mother. And on learning there was a Dragonborn child, he’d been both worried about its safety and ridiculously excited about a child to fuss over.

Miraak liked kids, it turned out. Miraak probably wanted some of his own. He’d probably picked the wrong partner for that, but Serana had a feeling he’d find a way. He seemed to genuinely love Dorian anyway. Serana had had no sense whatsoever of Miraak seeing his partner, his family, as a means to an end.

Maybe her father had been like that once. Maybe. Only Serana was having a hard time remembering Harkon being as casually affectionate as Miraak had been with Dorian tonight. And Skyhold itself seemed calm and content, with none of the politicking and intrigue that had plagued her father’s court. Miraak had no serious rivals for power, advisors and an inner circle that mostly backed him, and his people seemed pleased, no, _happy_ to be here and proud to serve Andraste’s Herald.

Serana avoided the tavern but she did take a walk, exploring the grounds, and finding herself staring up at the enchanted glowing eye and sword emblem on Skyhold’s main keep.

Symbol of the Inquisition. Blazing magically for all to see. Seemed exactly like the sort of thing Miraak might like. Overdone, impossible to ignore, screaming for attention and demanding all look at his power – very, very Miraak.

Serana shook her mind. Men. She was sure there were some who were modest and humble and didn’t demand the world worship them, but Miraak was clearly not one.

“Admiring our Herald’s handiwork?”

Serana started, not having heard anyone come up behind her. The speaker turned out to be a man in his forties maybe, human, pale, bearded, about the same height she was but with broad shoulders, dressed in a casual gambeson. Not carrying weapons, but with that build, Serana was sure he knew how to use them.

“He did that himself?” Serana said, surprised. “Wow. I mean… I can believe he’d order it but not that he’d do it personally.”

The man laughed, eyes crinkling and Serana found herself smiling in response because that smile made his entire face practically shine. 

“If it helps, he did have a crowd of people looking on adoringly at the time. They’d just made him Inquisitor. I think he felt he ought to do something to impress them.”

“Did it?” Serana had to ask. Her new friend looked as if he was thinking before answering.

“It definitely impressed. A bit showy if you ask me, but I can’t deny it was what we needed to see. It’s what the Inquisition needed, after Haven. A reminder our Herald’s got power to match Corypheus. I daresay a reminder the Maker sent a mage in our hour of need didn’t go amiss either. I don’t know if he’d already made his mind up about supporting mage freedom at that point, but it ended up being the natural follow-on.”

Serana had heard about the mage-Templar war. She’d not even been surprised. Sounded like the next stage of the way humans saw vampires. She was however surprised to see this man sounding neutral on the subject. She’d heard it was rare for a non-mage human to be in favour of mages. Alistair had been mage-friendly but he’d also said he was a rarity – and that his own order believed in using any means necessary to fight the Blight and didn’t treat their mage members differently.

“You’re OK with mage freedom then?” Serana said, not hiding her surprise.

“Does that surprise you?” the man said, smiling again and Serana felt an unaccustomed emotion on seeing it again. Yes. That smile. She liked that smile. She’d like to see more of it.

“Well, yes, honestly, the way Liriel put it, everyone round here treats mages as one step up from demons,” Serana said. “You don’t look like a mage and you’re not wearing the Templar uniform. Who are you?”

“Ah, where are my manners. Here I am, babbling on and taking up your time and I haven’t even introduced myself. Warden Blackwall of the Grey Wardens, at your service. Our order doesn’t treat its mage members any differently from the other members. Magic’s useful, if you treat it with respect. And you can’t do that if you don’t give its practitioners a bit of basic respect and decency. You can’t treat them like they’re all criminals in waiting.”

That… was unexpected, and Serana found herself warming to him.

“That’s a sensible opinion from an Andrastian,” Serana said. “Wonder of wonders.”

Blackwall looked rather strangely at her on hearing that.

“We’re not all raving fanatics – even the Chantry people aren’t all like that. Ma’am, the way you said that – like you’re not one yourself? And you know Liriel, the mystery elven Dragonborn. Mind telling me a bit more about yourself?”

A tactful way of asking what the bloody hell was a human woman who wasn’t Andrastian doing here.

“Miraak invited me here to help with… a personal matter,” Serana said, not willing to talk about her mission until Alistair had gone a bit more public about his mother. “My name’s Serana. I’m a friend of Liriel’s. She helped me deal with a difficult family situation and we’ve been friends ever since. It was me who came up with a way of tracking Miraak down. We were… looking for him.”

“You were looking for Miraak?” Blackwall said strangely. “Way everyone tells it, he was stuck in the Fade for years. But Liriel turns up out of nowhere with her people and was looking for him. Why? Where’d she come from?”

“That’s… complicated,” Serana sighed. “And I only just met you and I’m not entirely sure I can trust you, in fact…”

Something had been off since he’d proudly declared he was a Warden. Because so was Alistair, and the taint’s smell had been overwhelming to the point of nausea. She’d been surprised to see him again and smell no taint, but not displeased.

Blackwall had no taint whatsoever. Had Miraak shouted his out of him too?

“You’re not carrying the Blight. Did Miraak shout it away like he did Alistair’s?”

The look on Blackwall’s face said it all. Blank stare, horrified expression – this man was no more a Warden than she was.

Blackwall took a step back, instinctively raising a hand to ward her off, and he glanced behind him to the stairs to the lower courtyard, clearly looking for escape routes. Serana instinctively bared her fangs and moved to stop him, sensing a threat. Sensing _prey._

“No,” Serana said firmly, covering ground faster than a mere human could manage and laying her hands on his chest. “I don’t think so. You’re lying about being a Warden. What else are you lying about. Talk, or I drag you to Miraak right now.”

Blackwall stared at her, mouth dropping open as he raised his hands in surrender.

“Who are – what are you?” Blackwall gasped. “No human should be able to move that fast, and how strong are you??”

He was trying to wriggle out of her grasp – unsuccessfully. Serana’s arms weren’t even moving.

“I’m not the one who’s lying to the Inquisition about who I am,” Serana snapped. “Talk.”

Blackwall stared into her eyes and even though she wasn’t using vampiric powers on him, he sagged in her arms, defeated.

“Not here,” he said softly. “The stables over there, I’m usually found there anyway, and it’s deserted at night.”

“Fine,” Serana said, forgetting that a mortal woman would have shown at least a little hesitation about going to a deserted, darkened area alone with a man she’d only just met. “But don’t try anything. You’ll regret it.”

She let him go and followed, eyes not leaving him, and if she’d forgotten to show any hesitation, it also didn’t occur to her to pretend she couldn’t see perfectly well where she was going either. Not a problem in the courtyard, but in the darkness of the stables, Blackwall got the shock of his life as he lit a torch and turned to see Serana already settled on a hay bale, watching intently.

“You found that in the dark?” Blackwall asked. Serana cursed quietly. Living in Castle Volkihar then shut up in a cave then around Liriel or in the Reach had clearly done a number on her ability to pass as mortal.

“I’ve got good night vision,” Serana said warily. “And I’m still waiting for you to explain who you really are, not actually a Warden Blackwall.”

“Aye, guess I owe you that,” Blackwall sighed. “You, er, aren’t worried I’ll hurt you? Silence a witness and all that?”

Serana actually laughed at that.

“No,” Serana said, not taking her eyes off him. “Look, we established I’m faster and stronger than you and can see better than you in the dark. And I’m a mage. I can do all sorts of things you wouldn’t even know how to counter. I don’t even have to kill you. All I have to do is get clear, find help, tell people you assaulted me, I need the Inquisitor, and once I get to Miraak, you’re toast.”

“And if I tell people you’re some sort of maleficar?” Blackwall said shrewdly. All right, perhaps best not to underestimate him.

“Miraak gets called in to adjudicate, he tells everyone not to be so ridiculous, Lady Serana is nothing of the sort and a valuable Inquisition asset, and then he’ll want to know more about you not actually being a Warden. He can sense Blight too close up. Once he knows to look, he’ll know. And then your word’s worthless.”

Serana watched his shoulders fall in defeat as he turned away, resting his hands on the nearby workbench with some wooden creature on it, something part lion, part bird. She wondered if he’d carved it. He looked like he might have skill with that sort of thing. Serana didn’t, but always admired those who had. It was a skill as worthy as any mage’s, the ability to create something that endured. People came and went but buildings could last for centuries. Small wonder a vampire could get attached more to them than to people – and admire the hands that could build one.

“Are you going to. Go to him, I mean,” Blackwall said softly.

“By all rights, I should,” Serana admitted. “He invited me here for a job and is letting me stay. I can’t keep something like this from him. But… there’s something about you. I don’t know what. You’re not fighting back or trying to escape or resisting. Like you knew it would come to this one day.”

“I knew it was a risk the moment I joined the Inquisition,” Blackwall said, head still lowered. “I just thought I’d have longer. It wasn’t calculated. I didn’t plan any of this. Miraak had questions about the Wardens. I… didn’t have answers. But I did know I couldn’t just stand back and do nothing while the world fell apart. I offered my services, Miraak accepted. He was definitely an odd one. Never took that mask off. Until after he started seeing Dorian. It was one night while we were travelling. He just came out of the tent one night without it, looking awkward as anything, and wanted to know if he could eat with us. Dorian just smiles and acts as if it’s nothing, but it really wasn’t. He was different after that. More human. Less the Herald. It got a lot easier to work out what Dorian saw in him. He’s had my loyalty ever since. And he’s greeted me as a friend ever since.”

“One who doesn’t know who you really are,” Serana said, wondering where this was going.

“We’ve both got pasts,” Blackwall said bitterly. “The story on him is that he was snatched into the Fade by the Maker and was sent back to help in our hour of need, but the way he tells it, he was messing about with demon worship back in the day, royally fucked up and ended up being imprisoned by a demon lord until Corypheus of all people blasted a hole in the Fade for him to escape through. Most of us who joined early know that second version but the newcomers all think the Maker held him in his hands the whole time. The truth doesn’t matter. What people need to believe, that’s what’s important.”

“Bullshit,” Serana said softly, but her voice cut straight through Blackwall’s reverie, and he spun round, mouth opening as he started to speak, but Serana cut him off.

“You heard. I said bullshit. Miraak’s told the truth to his inner circle, and if there’s things you don’t know, you either aren’t as close as you think or perhaps you just need to ask. If people out there are embellishing, that’s not his problem. You though. You’re letting Miraak believe you’re a Grey Warden when you really aren’t. Is Blackwall even your real name?”

Silence as Blackwall lowered his head in defeat.

“Thought not,” Serana said bitterly. “Give me some fucking answers, or I’m dragging you into that tavern and telling Miraak what I know, and do not think I can’t do it.”

Blackwall clearly remembered unyielding hands on his chest and unnatural reflexes and finally gave in.

“My name’s Thom Rainier,” Blackwall said, not meeting her eyes. “I’m a wanted criminal in Orlais. I was a soldier once, bloody good one too. Then this noble hired me and my men to ambush and kill this other noble while he was travelling from the capital to his estate. He promised me gold and a title of my own. Of course I said yes. I didn’t realise he’d be travelling with his family. I…”

Even a millennia-old vampire couldn’t help but flinch at that. Blackwall must have seen because he didn’t linger on this point.

“Needless to say, it went to shit. Even Orlesians don’t like the idea of kids dying. We were exposed as the culprits. Most of my men hung for it. I ran. I got away, far away, was heading for the Marches. I didn’t care where I went, just out of Orlais. That’s when I met him. The real Warden Blackwall. And before you ask, no, I didn’t kill him. He recruited me for the Wardens. I’m still not sure why. He saw me deal with some local hoodlums who were harassing the waitress in a tavern. Must have impressed him because next thing I knew he was telling me about the Wardens. Even when I told him who, what, I really was, he still wanted to recruit me. Apparently a lot of Wardens were recruited from jails. It was a chance to atone, to leave your past behind and make up for it by saving the world from darkspawn. I won’t lie, I was mostly just relieved to be able to stop running. But part of me wanted to believe I could be better. That there might be somewhere for even a wretch like me. We went to the Storm Coast. Apparently there were darkspawn pockets out there and we’d need a vial of their blood for the Joining ritual. Except it didn’t go to plan. There were more than we thought. I survived. He didn’t.”

“Then what?” Serana said, although frankly she could guess. “Take it you never sought out a Warden base and told them what happened?”

“No,” Blackwall said, shaking his head. Still not meeting her eyes. “I told you, I was still mostly a reprobate back then. I could have done the right thing. But instead I took his armour and his name and went out into Ferelden, telling people I was a travelling Warden. Warden Blackwall. No one argued. No one asked questions. As long as I turned up and dealt with problems, people were happy to see me. Lived like that for years. Had no intention of doing anything else. Got used to it after a while. Rather liked it. Travelling around Ferelden, helping people – it was more fulfilling than anything I’d done in Orlais. And then some arsehole blows up the Temple of Sacred Ashes and rips a hole in the world, there’s demons everywhere, the mage-templar war renews with interest, there’s refugees in need and bandits taking opportunities and more trouble than one man can handle alone. I’m doing what I can but it’s not enough… and then this stranger in a golden mask wants to know if Wardens were involved. I had no answers but I knew I couldn’t let this sort itself out. So I joined up. Everyone just took me at my word. Even Warden Alistair. Of course, he’d lost his own taint by the time I got introduced to him properly. Luck, I guess. Look, I didn’t plan any of this. I was trying to do the right thing. Didn’t count on you turning up and realising right away.”

“I bet you didn’t,” Serana whispered, wondering what to do now. Despite everything, he wasn’t a bad man at heart, it seemed. Not irredeemable. Trying to do the right thing. A criminal on the run – but they’d kill her too if they knew what she really was.

“So what are you going to do?” Blackwall asked, sounding utterly defeated. “Are you going to go to Miraak?”

“I don’t see I have much choice,” Serana sighed. “But… if we go together and we talk to him, tell him everything… he’ll be more understanding if you tell him yourself than if he finds out. I can stop him killing you on the spot. And… he doesn’t have the moral high ground, you know. You were right about his past. We weren’t looking for him because we were worried about his wellbeing, Liriel was hunting him to bring him to justice. What stopped her was realising he was actually helping people. And realising he wasn’t the worst thing over here and she didn’t want the hassle of saving this place. Miraak’s got his own atonement to carry out. And if he doesn’t show any sympathy for you, perhaps I can make him.”

“You can make Lord Miraak do what you want?” Blackwall scoffed, looking rightly sceptical of this. Well, when he put it like that, Serana obviously couldn’t. But she understood the power of words, and if Miraak had a shred of decency, her chances of persuasion were good.

“I’m very persuasive,” Serana told him. “Come on, let’s move. We should get this over with.”

Blackwall hesitated, and then stood up straight, eyes meeting hers, coming to a decision.

“Yes. Yes we should. Lead on, Lady Serana.”

He held out his arm for her to take, and this was the oddest thing, linking arms with a man she might just be taking to his death. Still, for all that, she found herself liking it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Serana left Blackwall outside the tavern while she went in to extract Miraak, blinking her night vision off as she walked in and found the light blinding her.

She found Miraak with one arm round Dorian and the other knocking back a tankard of ale, sharing a joke with a seven foot tall horned warrior with one eye and more scars than Serana had ever seen on one person. The warrior glanced her way and actually whistled.

“Damn! Are you new? Ma’am, if you’re looking for company, I’m your man.”

Serana wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. No. Just… no.

“I don’t know, do you have a biting kink?” Serana snapped. She understood casual sex existed, of course. But she had no desire to try it herself.

To her surprise, the horned warrior actually looked thoughtful.

“For you, ma’am? I could get one.”

Thank the Daedra Miraak had put his tankard down with more force than was strictly required.

“Iron Bull. Serana is my _guest_. We do not inconvenience my _guests._ Krosis, Serana. He does this with everyone. You said you weren’t joining us, is something wrong?”

“Yeah, you might say that,” Serana sighed, keen to get out of the place with the bright lights and the noise and the thudding heartbeats and blood scent _everywhere._ “Can we talk? In private?”

Miraak nodded, before downing the rest of his ale and patting Dorian as he got up.

“Of course. Excuse me, friends. Dorian, I’ll see you later.”

A pat on his lover’s cheek and a kiss on the forehead, happy smile on his face at the contact, and then Miraak was following her out.

Serana hoped for his own sake Blackwall hadn’t taken the opportunity to run… but there he was, back against the opposite wall, arms folded.

“Your Worship,” Blackwall said quietly, not meeting Miraak’s eyes.

“Warden Blackwall,” Miraak said, still clearly in a good mood from the ale. “You know you can use my name.”

“I know,” Blackwall said, guilt all over his face and Miraak could hardly miss this.

The smile faded and the good humour of an Atmoran warlord went with it, leaving something rather more fearsome.

“What’s wrong,” Miraak said, voice low but the throb of the Thu’um audible to all and setting Serana’s nerves on edge. Daedra knew what it was doing to Blackwall.

“We should go somewhere more private,” Serana told him. “Blackwall needs to tell you something. It’s important.”

Miraak’s gaze did not leave Blackwall… and then the anger faded to something much, much worse. Disappointment.

“What did you do,” Miraak breathed and Blackwall flinched. 

“We should do as the lady asks,” Blackwall said, unable to meet that expression and Miraak rubbed his forehead, actually looking grieved and glancing back at the tavern. Needing moral support from Dorian? Perhaps. But Miraak sighed and led both of them off, leading them to his war room and shutting the door behind them.

“Talk,” he said softly. “Did you hurt anyone here in Skyhold?”

“No,” Blackwall said, standing at attention, his gaze focused on a point beyond his Inquisitor’s shoulder. “It was before. Before I… I was a different man back then.”

“You’re not kidding,” Serana sighed. “Miraak, he’s not a Warden. There’s no taint in his blood. I can’t smell it on him, and trust me, it was obvious when we first met Alistair. So I asked him about it and… tell him what you told me, Blackwall.”

Miraak’s head had jerked up sharply, and whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been that.

“What?? But Leliana had a whole file on him, Gordon Blackwall was a senior, veteran Warden, how can you not have…”

He’d made his way round the desk, closing the distance, hands on Blackwall’s shirt as he got closer than he ever had before, head up against Blackwall’s as he inhaled right next to Blackwall’s neck… and then Blackwall was being flung back into the wall, mage armour being cast and electricity crackling in the air.

“No taint. You were never Joined. You’re not… who. Who are you??”

“Miraak, no, don’t kill him!” Serana cried, moving faster than any human should, and Blackwall looked up to see her silhouetted in the green cast of Miraak’s mage armour and shock magic, and Blackwall cried her name. He was willing to face justice, but she shouldn’t have to die for him!

“Serana no, don’t… just let him kill me, my life’s not worth it!”

Shock magic shutting off, and the atmosphere settled down.

“It’s not the same if they ask for it,” Miraak growled, lowering his hands. “Fine. I’ll hear this lying cesspit out. And I will be verifying the details with Leliana. Trust me on this.”

Serana lowered her hands and stepped away, actually helping Blackwall up and placing a protective hand on his shoulder. 

Blackwall did not deserve this but he’d take it. Miraak had backed off at least, circling back behind the war table.

“Your real name,” Miraak snapped. “I cannot keep calling you Motmahus Lo Vith, after all.”

That was definitely not a compliment. Blackwall didn’t blame him. He probably deserved it.

“Thom Rainier,” Blackwall admitted, feeling a weight off his shoulders as he finally admitted it to his respected commanding officer. “I’m wanted in Orlais for murdering a noble and his family. I took coin from a supporter of Gaspard de Chalons to assassinate one of Celene’s close supporters. The Callier massacre, look for information on that, you’ll find more than you ever wanted to know. I didn’t tell my men who we were killing, let them believe it was a legitimate army operation. I knew what I was doing. The only thing I offer in my defence is that I didn’t know he’d have his wife and children with him. Too late to call it off by the time I realised.”

Miraak had actually shivered at that, saying nothing and for a few seconds, doing nothing, shoulders just heaving. And then he roared, sweeping a pile of dossiers to the floor then turning away, and Blackwall had the horrible feeling Miraak was bloody crying.

“Why tell me this,” Miraak gasped. “Why TELL me this??”

He rounded on Blackwall, face twisted in rage, a horror to behold.

Blackwall flinched and looked away, focusing on one of the windows.

“Serana found out and wouldn’t let it go,” Blackwall said softly. “Once someone knew, and I knew they knew… ah balls, living as Blackwall made it easy to forget. It was a different man did all that – _I_ was a different man. Living as him, I could help people. Make the world a better place. Do the work he’d want me to be doing.”

“He being?” Miraak asked, then he realised. “The real Blackwall, I take it. What happened to him. Did you kill him as well?”

“No!” Blackwall cried. “Maker, no, it was darkspawn did that. He recruited me for the Wardens despite knowing who I really was. He said he believed I still had honour in there somewhere, and I definitely still had my sword arm, and hanging me would be a waste. He wanted me for the Wardens, said my past would be wiped clean there. I could atone for what I’d done by helping save the world from the Blight. But he was killed by darkspawn before we made contact with the rest of the Order. It should have been me. He shouldn’t have died saving a wretch like me. He was a good man. He had so much to offer the world. So… I took his name. Travelled Ferelden as a Warden recruiter, helping people. It was just a cover at first. But… the looks on people’s faces. The gratitude. The trust. The hope. They paid me as well, of course. Sometimes handsomely. But that wasn’t why I was doing it. The old me would have spent the coin on women or cards. What I didn’t need for my own expenses went in Chantry offering plates instead. I’m not a devout man but I do believe. And seeing I was making a difference to them made all the difference to me. For the first time in my life, being Warden Blackwall… I felt like I was doing something with my life. Like I mattered. And then the world went to shit and in the middle of all that, there’s you. The golden-masked man of mystery who fell out of the Fade and turned out to be the only one who could stand against the darkness. You turned up at my cabin, asking questions, and I’d seen your power was real by that point. I knew if anyone could help, it was you. I wasn’t planning to join the Inquisition, it was an impulse. But you said yes, and so far, all I’ve seen you do is lead with bravery and honour. You’re a fucking inspiration, Miraak, and you inspired me. You deserve to know the truth.”

Miraak closed his eyes, shaking his head, walking back to the desk and resting his forearms on the desk, fingers entwined, and then he rested his forehead on his fists.

“ _I_ inspired _you??_ ” Miraak gasped, and was he laughing?? Or… maybe crying? Or both? Blackwall couldn’t tell and maybe neither could Miraak.

“My crimes are worse than yours,” Miraak said softly. “There is nothing sacred or holy about me. I am no inspiration. I know you know about the youthful demon trafficking that got me stuck in the Fade but you don’t know why Liriel was hunting me.”

Miraak looked up and despite the tears glittering on his cheeks, he was smiling, a vicious evil thing that had nothing of goodness or holiness in it.

“I am a bastard of the first order,” Miraak informed him cheerfully. “My original plan for escaping the Fade involved using the Thu’um to enslave an entire island so they could build the power conduits to open it and bring me home. Liriel foiled that, and she would have killed me too – and then Corypheus gave me an escape route. And the Inquisition had needs, it turned out. I was all set to rebuild my cult anew. And then you people… _changed_ me!”

Miraak straightened up, teeth still gritted, and his scarf slipped, revealing the merest hint of a buckle underneath which was one hell of a thing to have under there, but who was Blackwall to judge. Maybe it was just part of the outfit.

“I know what it’s like,” Miraak whispered, those blue eyes boring into Blackwall’s. “Helping people because you want to impress people, and then they look at you with gratitude in their eyes, and the adoration is fun at first but then it keeps happening and you realise you like it, and you don’t even know how many little favours you’ve done before you realise you need it and… and then you meet this Grey Warden who keeps talking about honour and glory and how the world needs good men with swords to be the bulwark against evil and… you start believing it yourself. There’s a reason I picked you, not Cassandra, to come to Redcliffe with me and to the Storm Coast, and why you and Varric were the next to unmask for after Dorian. Because Cassandra is unflinching justice, a moral tower who has never been tempted, never been impure. Never been _corrupted._ All she does is remind me what I am next to her. But you… you were a man with a past of some sort who did the right thing anyway. You always talked about the possibility of atonement and redemption. That your past didn’t matter. There was always a right thing to do and you could always do it. You made me believe even I could be a hero, even though it was Dorian who gave me my reason to do it. You were the one inspiring me, Warden. And you… aren’t even…”

For a moment Blackwall thought Miraak was going to hit him, but no. Miraak put his head in his hands and started laughing, laughing hysterically as he strode to the far end of the room, leaning back against the wall and laughing, head flung back, hair falling down around his shoulders and yes, definitely a buckled collar under that scarf.

Each to their own, and Blackwall fully intended to forget he ever saw that. Still, it was an insight. Miraak dealt with his own guilt by submitting to Dorian. Interesting. But not an option Blackwall had. Unfortunately.

Serana’s hand resting against his chest, same height he was, slightly built but the strength in her grip – Blackwall didn’t know how she got that way and didn’t want to, but she wasn’t a bad person, he’d swear to that. She had her own sense of honour and… hadn’t he always liked the idea of a woman who could hold her own against him.

“Is he all right,” he murmured to her. Serana shrugged.

“Worry about yourself,” was all Serana said, her own eyes not leaving Miraak. 

Finally he dried his eyes, irritably adjusted the scarf, and then grinned back at Blackwall, anger seeming to have faded.

“You spend your life getting good at bastardry and then these fucking arseholes start influencing you to be a better person and next thing you know, you’re their fucking inspiration!” Miraak spat at him. “An inspiration, by the gods. Daedra take yo-”

And then Miraak’s shoulders sagged and he shook his head.

“I can’t even wish that on you. Bormahu ofan mul.”

Silence and then Miraak shook himself down and seemed to pull himself together.

“Who else knows about this.”

“No one,” Blackwall said, glancing at Serana. “I only told Serana. No one else heard.”

“It’s true,” Serana confirmed. “I would have heard an eavesdropper.”

“Heard?” Blackwall said, confused. “How the bloody hell would you have heard them?”

Serana went pink, opening her mouth but it was Miraak who intervened.

“Never you mind that. Serana is not the wanted criminal here. So. No one but the three of us knows. Then we keep it that way. No one gains from knowing you’re anyone other than Blackwall. Kyne knows I fucking didn’t.”

Miraak was glaring at him bitterly, and Blackwall could only look down in shame.

“No sir,” was all Blackwall had to say to that.

“You two speak to no one of this,” Miraak said firmly. “And I – I need to think. I need to ask Leliana about the Callier massacre and potential options. I won’t tell her you’re Rainier, but I need to know if this is something we can offer gold for in lieu of blood. Or if conscripting you in lieu of the gallows might work – ah fuck. We were using the Grey Warden treaties to justify that. Treaties you gave us and you’re not even-!”

Not actually a Warden, which meant the treaties were void and the Inquisition potentially criminals for using them.

Blackwall realised in horror the masquerade had bigger consequences than just him.

“Alistair’s one,” Serana said, and Blackwall could kiss her for that little ray of hope. “And he’s not just a Warden, he’s a hero. He’s Lyra’s sidekick. You could still use the treaties if he’s with you.” 

“We could,” Miraak said thoughtfully, watching Blackwall anew. “Well then, not-Warden. I will explore the legal and political options. But in the meantime, we need you. You’re of no use to me or anyone dead. So if it makes you feel better, consider yourself conscripted. You’ll serve the Inquisition until Corypheus dies. After that – if there’s an order of Wardens left to belong to, perhaps I’ll give you to them. Under your real name, this time.”

“Understood,” Blackwall said, tone submissive but inside he could melt with relief. The burden was off him. Hiding… well, he still had to do that but it just felt less onerous now. Miraak knew. And Serana. And… he could still help. Still contribute something. Perhaps he wasn’t as worthless as he thought. Perhaps… perhaps he could live as Thom Rainier and be a good person one day. 

Perhaps he’d even earn Miraak’s forgiveness one day. 

“If I can ask a question,” Blackwall said delicately. “Who in the Inquisition knows you were a wanted man before you turned up here?”

Miraak had every right to refuse to answer that one but to Blackwall’s surprise Miraak did not unleash the Thu’um on him.

“Dorian,” Miraak said, soft little smile on his face. “He nearly left me over it. In the end, I somehow managed to talk him into staying. I’m still not sure how and I thank Mara for it daily. He forgave me on condition I saved the world and lived as a better person. It was a promise I had no trouble making him. He made me confess to the Council. This was back in Haven. Cassandra was all for turning me in. Josephine was too shocked to know what to do. Leliana insisted the Inquisition needed me too much, and Cullen of all people sided with her. He said it would be bad for morale to tell people this and we had no other means of closing the rifts. It was actually Dorian who talked them round, he said the Inquisition was my chance to atone. That won Josephine over and Cassandra grudgingly agreed. All four made me Inquisitor anyway. They apparently believe me a reformed man. I am not arguing.”

Mischievous little smile on Miraak’s face, and Blackwall had to wonder.

“And are you? A reformed man.”

“I’m not turning you in, draw your own conclusions,” Miraak growled, eyes narrowing. “This fucking Inquisition has a way of doing that, you know. Making you be a better person, _against your will,_ and fucking enjoying it! Ugh. It’s horrific. I hate it. And I can’t stop. And you’re the worst fucking offender save only Dorian. Gods damn you.”

Somehow the smile had come back.

“I’m almost remorseful,” Blackwall told him, smile starting to reappear on his own face. “Buy you a pint later?”

“It’s my ale and my tavern!” Miraak snapped. And then he nodded, accepting. “But I will take that drink. Ah, Thom. My Council gave me a chance, my lokaal gave me a chance. How can I not give you the same. Fight for me with honour, fahdoni, and I will do what I can about your past.”

Blackwall nodded, feeling a lump in his throat as he realised Miraak had forgiven him. Miraak had his bloody back. The fucking _Inquisitor_ had the same faith in him the real Blackwall had had.

The first person to use his real first name in years and it was Inquisitor Miraak, Andraste’s Herald. Well, perhaps not really Andraste’s Herald, who knew, but that didn’t matter. Miraak was here and doing the right thing anyway, saving people, saving lives, even if he hated it. It didn’t matter if Andraste didn’t really send him here, if he was in reality an opportunistic tyrant who’d fled an entirely justified execution. He was here, now, being a good person… and he’d found it in him to show mercy to Blackwall.

Blackwall would not have seen that happening in a million years.

“Thank you, Your Worship,” Blackwall managed to get out, wiping a tear from his eye. “You know, you’re probably going to hate this but… despite everything you told me earlier… you’re still an inspiration.”

Miraak had been in the process of levitating dossiers back on to the table and promptly dropped one, going pink.

“I’m _what?_ ”

“Oh, you heard,” Blackwall said awkwardly. “Still an inspiration. Not because you’re perfect. But because you’re not. Because you fell from grace about as far as it is possible to fall and here you are clawing your way back up again, determined to do better and be better. Even if you’re mostly doing it to keep Dorian happy, you’re still doing it. And that’s the important thing. You, sir, are an inspiration to all of us filthy sinners down here.”

Miraak was staring back at him, face stained scarlet and then hastily rearranged all the dossiers and pointed at the door.

“Out. And never speak of this again. Serana, thank you for bringing this to my attention. I almost wish I didn’t know… but better to find out this way, I think. You’re both dismissed. And Serana… enjoy the rest of your stay.”

“I will. Thank you,” Serana said, turning to leave, and then looking surprised to see Blackwall holding the door for her.

“Never let it be said I don’t know how to treat a lady,” Blackwall told her, bowing as he indicated for her to pass through. 

Serana looked up then, odd orange eyes meeting his, strange look on her face, and then she smiled.

“Are you going to hold every door between me and the outside,” Serana said, delightful little twinkle in her eyes.

“If you’ll let me,” Blackwall said, heart speeding up a little and Serana's eyes flicked to his chest. Almost like she could hear heartbeats.

That thought didn’t do anything to calm him, quite the contrary.

“Oh, I’m always happy to let a nice gentleman look after me,” Serana laughed. 

Blackwall was in no way that. But looking after the fair Serana? He could definitely do that.

He caught Miraak’s eye as he left, the Dragonborn Inquisitor clearly seeing what was going on here… but he saw no judgement there. Amusement, if anything. Blackwall nodded to him and slipped out, closing the door behind him.

Leaving Miraak with paperwork to arrange and slowly sort his head out, because this… this was too much even for him.

_I should turn him in. It’s the right thing to do._

_Don’t be absurd, we need him._

_Actually, we don’t, Alistair can do everything he can._

Miraak knew that and knew also it didn’t matter. Blackwall – Thom – was one of his, and Miraak protected his own. That was all. Nothing else to it. Miraak was not a good person, because good people did not find out they had a wanted criminal in their ranks and decide to hide him from authority.

_What does that make your Council then._

Pragmatists who needed their Herald. Even though he knew Cassandra had wanted to turn him in and Josephine had only agreed to save him on hearing he was trying to atone. That was all. Miraak truly wasn’t a good man. 

Miraak’s hand went to his neck and the collar at his throat, remembering picking out outfits with Dorian and having them tailored with high collar options especially so he could wear this and hide it. The regular reminder he was Dorian’s now. The reminder he was real, here, present, a steadying influence that soothed worries away.

It wasn’t soothing him right now. No, he needed physical touch right now. He needed Dorian and he need to _feel_ him. 

Finishing in the war room, he swirled his fingers and waited for the Eye to come to him, hovering before his eyes, waiting patiently for his orders.

“Find Dorian and tell him to come to our quarters,” Miraak murmured. “Make sure to call him Thuri. Tell him I need him.”

The Eye sped off to pass on the message. Dorian’s name for it, that. Ridiculous, but it had caught on. What the Eye had also started doing was responding to Dorian, snuggling up to him, responding to Dorian’s touch… and on occasion to Dorian’s power. Without Miraak consciously telling it to. Somehow it could tell that Dorian could have whatever he liked.

Miraak really should order it to respond to him and only him, but he’d seen it on Dorian’s lap, vibrating away while Dorian petted it and whispered to it, and he hadn’t the heart to do it.

So the Eye was like its master then. Bound body and soul to Dorian Pavus. Miraak didn’t mind. Better him than Hermaeus Mora. 

Time to retreat to the quarters. Dorian would be on his way soon, and Miraak needed to be ready. Tonight he needed to leave it all behind and just be Dorian’s.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“You know, you can go back to the stables, you know. You don’t have to stay with me.”

Blackwall knew. But Lady Serana was, hands down, one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on, and what was more, she knew who he was. Who he really was. Those orange eyes had looked into his, seen him for who he was… and she still seemed pleased to see him.

How could he not respond to that.

“But then you’d be alone,” he pointed out. “I mean, if you’d prefer that, I can leave you be, of course. But it’s not often we get charming company such as yourself in Skyhold.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Serana laughed as they left the Great Hall and made their way down the steps. “There were plenty of people on the road here. Not just peasants either. We must have passed at least three of those masked nobles and their entourages.”

Blackwall winced at the thought.

“Can’t exactly call them charming, my lady. I know the court. It’s finery on the outside, vicious backstabbing on the inside. Well. You know my story now. You know why…” Blackwall fell silent, closing his eyes and wondering if the axe might be about to fall after all.

The touch of Serana’s hand on his as they both leaned against the wall overlooking the lower courtyard had a way of rousing him. It felt cold, or colder than he’d expected anyway, and Blackwall looked up, feeling wary without knowing why. At least until he looked into her eyes and saw only sympathy there.

“Are you all right,” Serana said softly.

“No, but I will be,” Blackwall sighed. “It’s all right. It’s not your fault. You were just trying to do the right thing. Come to think of it, you did do the right thing. It had to come out eventually. In a way, I’m glad it was like this. Means I have someone to talk to I don’t have to lie to.”

Serana’s smile lit up the night like a third moon.

“That’s a good thing to have. There’s not many people I can be myself with either. I mean… there’s a good reason for that but… it can be a lonely life sometimes. Less so since I met Liriel though, she’s been great. Madanach too. But they’ve got each other and the kids. At the end of the night… I’m alone.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Blackwall said, not sure what else to say but knowing all too well how that felt. “Can’t imagine someone like you wanting for company.”

“Someone like me how?” Serana asked, raising an eyebrow. And now it was his turn to blush.

“Ah. Well. How can I put this. Beautiful women don’t normally lack people wanting their company, let’s put it that way. If you wanted to start a conversation with anyone in this keep, I don’t think they’d turn you away. Apart from Dorian. He prefers male company even if he wasn’t happily partnered up with our Herald.”

“I had noticed that,” Serana laughed. “Don’t worry, I have no designs on him. Or Miraak for that matter. Or… look, romance and I aren’t the best of friends. I’ve not had the best history. It’s… probably best for everyone if I just don’t get involved.”

Now where had he heard that before.

“You’re starting to sound like me,” Blackwall remarked. “You’re not wanted for anything, are you?”

That did get a laugh. 

“No. But… you have to have figured out by now I’m not like other women.”

“I did notice,” Blackwall said warily. “You seem remarkably fearless for a young woman, even a mage. Also gifted with strength and speed above the norm and you can see in the dark. You shouldn’t be stronger than me, but you are. Listen, I realise you only met me tonight and it wasn’t the best introduction but… you listened to me and you helped. I won’t betray your secret.”

“It’s not that simple,” Serana said softly, staring out into the night. “You’re right about me being a mage, but if the Templars found out what I really am, they wouldn’t just have put me in a Circle. They would have executed me. I – I’m not a bad person. I don’t think I am anyway. But what I am is dangerous. Most people turn away in disgust or run away in fear. Either or they think it’s sexy. I can work with that, but still all they’re seeing is what I am, not who I am. Any of my kind could give them the same.”

“And what is your kind,” Blackwall said, looking her over carefully and seeing nothing odd other than those strange eyes of hers.

Serana closed her eyes and shook her head, face looking utterly miserable.

“Don’t ask me,” Serana whispered. “Very definitely against your religion. It’s one thing for strangers to turn from me in disgust but I’m starting to like you. Let’s… let’s not ruin it.”

Blackwall couldn’t imagine looking at that lovely face and being revolted but he knew not to push. So he let it go, offering to give her a tour of Skyhold instead.

Serana’s smile in response was something he could definitely get used to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

When Dorian found Miraak, he was lying face down on the bed, boots off, topless, collar visible underneath the mane of hair.

Someone was feeling submissive clearly, but not the attentive drop-to-his-knees and serve type.

No, Miraak looked _broken._ Silently, Dorian indicated for the Eye to go and rest on the desk while he pulled his own outer clothing off and curled up behind Miraak, gently pulling hair back so he could see his face.

“Hello pet,” Dorian murmured to him. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” came the muffled response. “I’m a bastard, Dorian. Always have been. Always will be.”

“That’s not true,” Dorian said, wrapping an arm round him. “You were probably adorable as a little boy.”

“I was the village weird child even before I became a mage,” Miraak said, staring into space. “As a young man, a self-centred prick. As a Dragon Priest, an unforgiving brute. As a husband… my own husband wanted to run in fear of me, and Saering was a Thurdinok – a Deathlord. That’s one of the highest ranks in the army, and his skill merited it, he was no coward! But he feared me. You know what happened after he died. As Herald and Inquisitor I had some small hope of doing better, being better. But I am not. I am failing at heroism, Dorian.”

Dorian had noticed no such thing, in fact from what he’d seen of Inquisition operations, Miraak was as well-regarded as ever and day to day operations were revolving around influence gathering, problem-solving and generally expanding their reach. No war crimes, no razing of cities, no massacring of the innocent. It was all rather wholesome.

“What happened, Miraak, you were in such a good mood earlier!” Dorian said, surprised. “What… was it Serana? Did she do something to you?”

“No, she is and remains a vampire of honour,” Miraak sighed. “Damn it, Dorian, that’s the problem. She uncovered that one of our number was lying about who he was, we questioned him and he confessed to being a wanted criminal.”

“And you had to arrest him, of course…” Dorian saw the look on Miraak’s face and realised no, he’d done no such thing.

“He’s still walking free in Skyhold and I’m going to ask Leliana in the morning how we might make the criminal charges go away,” Miraak sighed. “Because I’m fond of the man and apparently a complete bastard still. Ah Dorian. Did I do the right thing? Should I have arrested him?”

“Probably yes, but…” Dorian rubbed his head, because while Miraak really should have arrested whoever this was, had Miraak truly been an amoral bastard still, he wouldn’t be feeling guilty over it. “You must have had your reasons. Can I ask who it was? What he did?”

“Best you don’t know,” Miraak said, shaking his head. “It’s enough I have to bear the guilt. But… it was years ago, Dorian. He’s been living a reformed life ever since. He’s not just been living under a different name and avoiding the law, he’s been out there helping people. You would not know he’d done what he did. He’s in the Inquisition because he wanted to help save the world. He’s a good man, Dorian. What good would sending him to the gallows do.”

Dorian remembered a council meeting, his own words, wanting to know what purpose killing Miraak for his previous crimes would do when they needed him, and realised where this was going.

“You are seeing yourself in him,” Dorian realised. “If we just kill him, he never gets a chance to atone. You want to give him the chance we all gave you. But you also know you’re breaking the law and it’s bothering you.”

“Hardly,” Miraak muttered. “Ugh! Dorian! I’m covering for a convicted war criminal! The fact I’m one as well isn’t helping! I’m supposed to be atoning! And what do I do as soon as a friend is exposed as someone else entirely?? Make excuses for his own crimes! The Inquisition had no one else to seal the rifts. But everything he brings, another could do as well!”

Miraak closed his eyes, head hitting the pillow again.

“I am the animal you’ve called me before now. I am the brute your father thought I was. I deserved death at Liriel’s hands and didn’t get it. I do not remotely deserve you. I need… I need you to hurt me. No one else will punish me.”

Something from Dorian, a noise, emotional reaction… but not arousal, and next thing Miraak knew, fingers were at the collar buckle, trying to loosen it and all he could feel was horror and despair as he wrenched away from Dorian.

“No!” Miraak gasped, horrified. “I need it! You can’t let me loose, you can’t!”

“I wanted a pet to take care of and fuss over, not abuse,” Dorian snapped. “Damn it, Miraak, that’s not what we agreed on! I don’t do pain play! And this isn’t even play, this is… oh god, Miraak, please stop. This is self-harm by proxy and I won’t… I won’t.”

 _Then what use are you._

Miraak did not say it out loud, because it was cruel, spiteful, would hurt Dorian and possibly break what they had, but Kyne help him, if anyone needed a bloody dominant it was him, and here was Dorian not being that when Miraak needed it most.

“Fariiki,” Miraak whispered bitterly. “I am no hero. I am a bastard, a villain, a monster. But one who loves you beyond all reason. But you want a hero to save the world, and what you’ve ended up with is me. I fear losing you, because I cannot tell right from wrong and without you I’m dead inside.”

Dorian was shaking his head, and when Miraak looked, he saw a certain coldness in Dorian’s own eyes, a certain darkness, and he started to wonder if perhaps he’d misjudged him. Either that or… perhaps he was going to get a good hiding after all.

“I have my own limits, Miraak,” Dorian said softly. “Do not try and push me beyond them again, because I am not someone to have as your moral compass. I studied necromancy, I studied death, that entire field involves a coldness you have no idea even exists. I’m not a good person either. I am the man who saw you going to kill my father, and did nothing. I won’t raise my staff against him but if you’d killed him… I would have mourned his death but never even considered avenging it… or preventing it. Do you know why that is, pet?”

“No?” Miraak whispered, feeling his cock twitch because this was not a side he’d seen of Dorian before. This side of Dorian was terrifying.

This side of Dorian was turning him on and he wanted more of it.

“Because I am _not_ a nice man,” Dorian whispered in his ear, and Miraak could feel Dorian’s magic rising, the room darkening, the fire fading and all Miraak could see was darkness. “I was drawn to you because you burned like the sun, you were fire, you were passion, you were the most alive person I’d ever met and I could not resist you. Because you seemed to be everything I wasn’t. And when I found out you had darkness at your core too, it broke my heart. Because I’d hoped you would make me better. That you would heal my broken core and make me a good person somehow. And here you are, lying at my feet and expecting me to make you into a hero? Miraak, Miraak. Heroism was never meant for me.”

Miraak closed his eyes and despite this he was smiling, because this felt so familiar, and so wrong and so right.

“Then you and I belong together,” Miraak gasped, arching his head back into Dorian’s chest and reaching for Dorian’s hand, pressing it to his groin, wanting him to feel the erection and draw his own conclusions.

He opened his eyes, stared up at Dorian, willing for him to break and just fucking take him already. Dorian was breathless, aroused, pink blush visible on brown skin, staring down at him, this close to breaking, Miraak just knew it.

“Aaz,” Dorian whispered and the magic shut off, the firelight returned and Miraak closed his eyes and fell to the bed, whimper escaping his throat. Not getting brutally fucked tonight then. Damn it.

“Dorian,” Miraak whispered, closing his eyes, wanting to comfort him, wanting to apologise but he didn’t feel sorry, not remotely. He’d wanted pain and domination tonight. Needed it. And Dorian had been there, almost there, ready to be the bastard of Miraak’s dreams.

Not quite, apparently. Damn it.

“Don’t ever push me there again, amatus,” Dorian said, rolling onto his back with his eyes closed, hand over his face. “I’m… kaffas, Miraak, if we go down that road, we’ll never find our way back. And I don’t know about you, but I like where we are. I like romantic happiness. Holding hands with you. Cuddling you. Loving you. I love my fluffy Dragonborn pet, and indulging him and playing with him. I’m not… Miraak. Please leave the worst parts of me alone.”

“I liked that part of you, Thuri,” Miraak murmured, not touching Dorian but close enough to if Dorian wanted. “You don’t need to feel ashamed of it. I would have yielded gladly.”

“I know,” Dorian said, still not looking at him. “But I still have to live with me afterwards. Amatus, please. If you need me as your dominant, I will do that, but you have to respect my limits. I set them to protect us both.”

Miraak growled, frustrated… but five thousand years or so in Apocrypha had taught him nothing if not patience. One day. One day Dorian was going to snap and break and wreck him. And it was going to be glorious.

“You tell me you have darkness at your core and then here you are being honourable?” Miraak scolded gently. “Look at yourself, fariiki, you are a good man at heart. Why wouldn’t I admire and respect you? Out of all the ones I’ve served, you are the best by far!”

“What, compared to the winged fire-breathing monsters and the tentacle demon?” Dorian said incredulously, turning to face him finally. “Miraak, your standards are so low it’s appalling.”  
Miraak and Dorian’s eyes locked, Dorian staring at Miraak and Miraak pouting back, and then neither could help but laugh, the tension dying as things returned to normal, and Miraak decided that perhaps he was holding on to a little too much emotion, while Dorian saw his precious pet seem more like himself and subconsciously relaxed.

“I can hardly submit to you then refuse to do what I’m told, hmm?” Miraak purred, lazily stretching out. “Ah, Dorian, letting you hurt me is the easy way out, isn’t it. I suppose it is not that easy. But tell me. Did I do the right thing. It’s not too late, I could still call the Orlesians here.”

“Hand him over to them, and it will be,” Dorian said, smile fading. “Oh balls, Miraak, I can’t tell you how to run the Inquisition! And you can’t keep second-guessing yourself! You know who he is and what he did, you looked into his eyes and saw the truth of him. So what did you see? Are you sure he’s a changed man? He’s not going to do it again, is he?” 

“No, no,” Miraak said, almost dismissively, and then he looked into Dorian’s eyes and realised this was the crux of it, wasn’t it. Thom Rainier the war criminal absolutely needed hanging. But Thom turned Blackwall? Thom turned Blackwall was a good and honourable man who’d put himself in between others and trouble time and again, and in that dark future, had told Miraak the Inquisition wasn’t dead as long as the four of them were willing to fight on in its name.

Damned if Miraak was letting that go to waste.

“I told him to fight for me with honour and I’d protect him,” Miraak told Dorian, emotions easing as the vahzen, rightness, of what he’d decided settled in. “He knows I’m watching. He knows that if he backslides, that’s it, I’m turning him in. I can give a second chance but not a third.”

“I wouldn't expect any less,” Dorian said, stroking his hair and smiling, because while he didn’t know the details, this wasn’t the hallmark of a bastard. This was the sign of a man who cared. Dorian smiled and kissed his beautiful pet’s forehead and cuddled him, and the darkness always lurking in his soul settled down and returned to quiescence. No summoning tendrils of shadow to abuse and humiliate Miraak. Not tonight. Miraak was his adorable, beautiful pet, to be loved and cherished. Miraak was doing the right thing! Miraak didn’t need punishing, and that thought cheered Dorian’s heart. Reaching out for him, Dorian pulled Miraak into his arms and let him snuggle.

“I’m very proud of you, you know,” Dorian said quietly. “Maybe you’re not happy… but I am. This is growth, you know. Progress!”

Miraak’s enthusiasm for snuggling appeared decidedly… muted, in fact he was scowling.

“Ugh, don’t start, you’re starting to sound like him,” Miraak muttered. “I told him he was still less of a bastard than I was, and that my crimes were manifestly worse, and he told me I was still an inspiration. Apparently falling from grace as far as it is possible to fall and being able to rise as Andraste’s Herald and become a hero makes me a better role model for Thedas’s sinners than if I’d never been a vindictive arsehole in the first place. I’m still a vindictive arsehole, Dorian.”

Vindictive arseholes did not snuggle into their boyfriend’s arms and pout like that in Dorian’s experience, but baby steps. A little at a time. Miraak would get used to being a good person eventually.

“Of course you are,” Dorian crooned, trying not to laugh. “You are my adorable, fluffy vindictive bastard and I love you.”

Miraak growled but said nothing because from Dorian, this disgusting soppiness was (wanted, longed for, needed, _craved_ ) acceptable. Barely. Just about. He’d have vastly preferred pain, darkness, brutal fucking, Dorian’s magic pinning him down and summoning semi-sentient tendrils of power to fuck him raw with, Dorian watching and smiling while Miraak pleaded for mercy that was never coming.

But he wasn’t getting that tonight and so he supposed the affection would do instead.

“But seriously, Miraak,” Dorian was continuing, still stroking his hair. “Saering left you because you were being cruel, a tyrant. But until you launched your rebellion, such cruelty was normal, maybe even expected?”

“Yes…” Miraak said slowly, wondering where this was going.

“You kept the law, but your cruelty marked you,” Dorian told him. “Now here you are trying to evade it, but you’re showing mercy.”

“He does not deserve mercy, he’s guilty and it was a dark deed,” Miraak growled. “Ugh. This was all so much easier under the Dov. I could have sacrificed him to Sahrotaar and had done. Now look at me. Agonising over it!”

“You could hand him over to the authorities now and have done,” Dorian said, starting to rock him gently. “You haven’t. You’re showing mercy. That’s growth, Miraak! That’s personal growth! For you, it is! Honestly, this is one of those decisions that could have been justified either way. There’s arguments on both sides. If you were a pushover, I’d be encouraging you to be more assertive and stand firmer, and if you’d been known for bribery and corruption, I’d be absolutely telling you to enforce the law. But you’re neither of those things. You needed to learn mercy, and here you are. Being merciful. All on your own and you didn’t even need me! You’re not failing at heroism, Miraak. You’re doing marvellously. And I’m very proud of you. And you don’t need punishing either, pet. You’re a good boy, aren’t you, hmm? Who’s a good boy, eh? Who’s a good boy.”

Miraak definitely did not live for being approved of, fussed over, and being told he was a good boy. Definitely, definitely not. Miraak was a strong, indomitable Atmoran battlemage who was above such things.

Which of course was why he rolled on to his back, pulling Dorian with him and pulled him in for a kiss, writhing suggestively under him and whispering ‘please’ in his ear.

“No,” Dorian said, grinning mischievously, breaking off the kiss and staying stubbornly out of reach, one finger on Miraak’s collar buckle forcing him back onto the pillows. “No fun for you until you’ve answered the question.”

“What??” Miraak cried, because he couldn’t possibly mean…

Miraak stared up into Dorian’s eyes and realised that Dorian’s particular brand of fluffy sadism might just be worse than the scary necromage.

“You’re not kidding,” Miraak said wearily, and Dorian reached for the collar’s ring instead, lifting Miraak’s neck from the pillows.

“Who’s a good boy, pet,” Dorian said, smiling sweetly. Miraak whined, squirmed, tried to fight it, but Dorian was implacable and there was literally only one way out of this.

“Me,” Miraak whispered, eyes shut and face screwed up in pain – really, he’d have taken any amount of magical fuckery over this. “I’m your good boy.”

It never once crossed Miraak’s mind to safeword and call a halt to this revolting fluffiness.

Dorian’s face softened as he nodded, smiling gently down at Miraak.

“Yes pet,” Dorian said softly, serious for once. “Yes you are. Now let me take care of you.”

The bedside table’s drawer shot open and the lubricant came to Dorian’s hands in one go, and Dorian released Miraak, letting him fall back to the pillows.

“I hate you,” Miraak whispered, eyes closed but not resisting as Dorian stripped his remaining clothes off and began to oil him.

“It’s for your own good, pet,” Dorian told him, and Miraak closed his eyes, mortified and appalled at himself for not shouting Dorian out of bed and instead just putting up with this humiliating treatment.

_I am not a good boy. I am a horrifying abomination. I am…_

Getting fucked by a man with darkness in his soul, who wielded punishment and humiliation more ingeniously than Miraak could ever have imagined. He’d heard of forced orgasms before. But never forced morals. The entire experience was horrific. Revolting. _Degrading._

Gods help him, Miraak couldn’t stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, back to Dragonborn Four as Miraak talks to Alistair about it all, then Leliana, then Cullen - it's various canon cutscenes to get through before we start looking at the main quest again. That... might mean Here Lies the Abyss as soon as chapter 23, or the start of it anyway.
> 
> Motmahus Lo Vith - untrustworthy lying snake.


	22. Trouble in Orlais

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a Dragonborn child to find, Miraak needs to talk to its Dragonborn father... only to find out said father knows both more and less than expected. Leliana's information opens up further intriguing possibilities... but shuts them down for someone else. Meanwhile, trouble is brewing out in the Dales and when it leads to Miraak not getting the stone for his memorial, it's time to go and investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter with lots going on! The Dragonborn Child plot continues, there's redone versions of various canon cutscenes, and while going for the Emprise du Lion right after taking Skyhold is a Very Bad Idea due to everything being about level 19, that doesn't apply to the First Dragonborn who fell out of the Fade about level 50. So off to the Emprise it is!

The morning after, and with Dorian in tow, Miraak went looking for Alistair. Because Dragonborn babies. At least one Dragonborn child anyway, and Miraak needed answers, and Dorian was tagging along because he was desperately curious himself.

Miraak had just about forgiven him for the previous night, but damned if he was admitting out loud just how much he liked being petted and fussed over.

It was almost as much as he liked the new collar Dorian had got him. A velvet ribbon choker with an enchanted Inquisition badge on the front, that could be discreetly worn with anything and looked like a badge of office, not a badge of ownership. Dorian had fastened it on that morning and kissed him gently, telling him if he liked wearing one that much, he should have one he could wear openly. 

Miraak had held him, feeling suddenly very emotional, which was ridiculous but… damn it. It was a thoughtful gesture and unexpected and Miraak had realised Dorian was worth everything. Even if his brand of sadism was ridiculously fluffy. For Dorian, Miraak would put up with much.

Alistair was sitting with Fiona, having breakfast in the Great Hall with Varric and Alistair seemed to have introduced Fiona as his mother already.

“You are going public already?” Miraak asked, and Alistair looked up, arm round Fiona and beaming.

“Yes!” Alistair said, smiling adoringly at Fiona, who glanced down, blushing. “We’ve done Leliana already. And we ran into Solas so I told him. We looked for Blackwall too but he’s sleeping in for some reason. Not like him but maybe he had a rough night. Never mind. Shall we do the tavern as well? We should tell Bull and Krem at least.”

“We should, it’ll get word spread without us having to do it,” Fiona said, looking up to meet Miraak’s eyes. “Your Worship. This parenthood thing will take much getting used to but I regret nothing. Thank you, Inquisitor. You don’t know what you’ve brought me – us.”

“I can guess,” Miraak said, instinctively squeezing Dorian’s hand. “But if you’re finished with breakfast, I would speak with you in private. It turns out we have more news.”

They were, just about. Fiona brought her tea with her, Alistair swallowed the remaining half of his croissant in one go, earning a tut from his mother, and then both followed Miraak back to the quarters.

“Your table manners, Alistair, really,” Dorian sighed. “You can’t just swallow food all in one when it’s bigger than your mouth.”

“It’s a talent,” Alistair said, smirking… at least until he remembered he had a mother now and said mother was giving him her most disapproving look.

“Alistair. You’re not in a Warden barracks now. Behave.”

“Yes mum. Sorry mum.”

“Ah, don’t worry, such things don’t bother me,” Miraak laughed, glancing at his blushing brother. “Do you know, back on Solstheim, it was the custom to consume an entire herring by swallowing it? Those were the days.”

Alistair was trying to imagine this, Fiona had done and immediately wished she hadn’t and Dorian looked like he might be about to vomit.

“Don’t worry, fariiki, we’d remove the fins, scales, head and tail first. And we did cure the meat. We weren’t complete barbarians.”

“Oh my god,” Dorian whispered. “I can’t look at you right now.”

Miraak just smirked more. Revenge was so sweet sometimes.

“Shall I get them to prepare some for you? I’m feeling nostalgic.”

“NO!” Dorian cried. “Maker, no – let’s get to the quarters. I think I need to sit down.”

Miraak left off teasing Dorian, and they settled in the quarters, Dorian stepping out to the balcony for some fresh air, while Miraak indicated for Alistair and Fiona to sit on the couch while he summoned the chair from his desk.

“Dorian can have the bed when he’s feeling better,” Miraak said, glancing after him, starting to feel slightly guilty. Only slightly, of course. Dorian was probably just being dramatic.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Fiona asked. “Is there a problem with me acknowledging Alistair? Leliana didn’t seem to think there was, in fact she squealed.”

Miraak had a hard time imagining that but Alistair confirmed it was true.

“We’re working on her,” Alistair said proudly. “We’ll have her showing emotions and mercy one day, just you wait.”

Miraak would believe it when he saw it, but Leliana wasn’t his problem. No, his problem was a little niece or nephew out there who was Dragonborn, didn’t know it… and might be in danger.

“I should like to see that, but she’s not why I called you here. No, we… this is going be difficult. I apologise in advance for any offence caused but… we used magic to confirm Alistair’s relationship to you, Fiona. Alistair’s aware of the magic, it needed him as a focus, and it confirmed what we suspected. But it also threw up another result, one that surprised us. There is another Dragonborn out there, out in Orlais. And… they’re related to you. Specifically… Alistair, you have a child out there.”

“What??” Fiona gasped. “But the Taint, that should make it impossible!” Then she glanced down at herself ruefully. “Ah, what has ever been normal about this family. But… a child! Alistair’s a father?”

“Yes,” Miraak said, watching Alistair for his reaction, and he’d expected many things. Shock. Surprise. Denial. Tears.

He’d not expected no reaction. He’d not expected Alistair avoiding his eyes, staring grimly at the floor, shoulders hunched but otherwise not reacting at all.

“You knew,” Miraak said softly. Which brought up a whole other set of issues, primarily why Alistair had never once bloody mentioned this. Miraak really had no good answer for that one.

“Yes,” Alistair said, gritting his teeth. “I knew.”

“But… why didn’t you say?” Fiona gasped. “Is it a boy or a girl? What’s their name? Is Bethany the mother? Who’s looking after them?”

“Bethany’s not the mother – it was before,” Alistair said, still not looking up. “At the end of the Blight, about a couple of weeks before we killed the Archdemon.”

“Nine years old,” and that was Dorian, returned from outside, apparently feeling better now something had taken his mind off his beloved swallowing an entire raw herring. “That makes them nine years old. Concrete information, Miraak! We’re getting somewhere! What else? What’s their name? Come to that, what pronouns should we be using?”

“I don’t know!” Alistair snapped back at him, and then he hunched in guiltily, head in his hands.

“I don’t know,” Alistair repeated bitterly. “It was part of the agreement. Morrigan wanted to raise the child alone, with no involvement from me. I was twenty years old, it was fine by me at the time. Morrigan went to ground after the Blight. We never did track her down. I wasn’t really looking if I’m honest, but I wondered… and you found her?”

“We found her,” Miraak confirmed. “Or at least, we have a lead. Maybe now we have two, now we know who we’re looking for. Morrigan. One of your companions in the Blight. And you had an affair with her. One that resulted in an unexpected child.”

Alistair said nothing, and Fiona put an arm round him to try and comfort him.

“Alistair, you were a young man and you were fighting a Blight. No one here is judging you,” Fiona said softly. It didn’t work.

“I’m judging me,” Alistair snapped. “It wasn’t an affair. It was an agreement. A deal. One Lyra begged me to go through with because otherwise one of us would have died facing the Archdemon. I told her I was fine with it being me but… she wouldn't have it.”

“One of you would have died?” Miraak said, frowning. “I know it must have been dangerous, but why say it like that? As if the death of one of you was certain.”

“Because killing an Archdemon was impossible, they kept regenerating,” Fiona said quietly. “That was back in the First Blight, and we had a century of that until someone finally realised that they were using the Blight to prolong their lives, leaping into another Blighted creature and being reborn. Darkspawn are mindless, they don’t have souls, it’s easy to take one over… but if the nearest Blighted creature has a soul of its own, when the Archdemon transfers, the soul fights back. It can’t win but it can destroy the Archdemon soul. They mutually annihilate each other. And that’s how you stop a Blight. The Grey Wardens Blight themselves so one of them can take the dragon’s soul and destroy it, at the cost of their own life.”

Miraak listened, heard, and began to realise why darkspawn might be drawn to the dragon blood. Natural enemies but also linked. And Archdemon dragons… Liriel said the high dragons here weren’t Dov, just beasts with a certain level of intelligence but these Archdemons were different. These Archdemons sounded like Dov. A Dovah’s soul could survive physical death and if it was Blighted, it might use that connection to reincarnate. And with no Dragonborn to absorb that soul…

“I could have killed the Archdemon and lived,” Miraak realised. “I take dragons’ souls when they die. And Alistair… gods, Alistair, you might not have died either.”

Alistair said nothing and then he seemed to collapse, falling into his mother’s arms and crying in her lap, shaking in silent tears. Fiona gasped then leaned in, holding him tight and whispering to him, calling him her baby, telling him it was all right, she was there, she’d look after him.

Getting off his chair, Miraak knelt by Alistair, rubbing his back, wishing he was better at this, but this was his brother, and Miraak never had liked seeing his loved ones in pain.

Miraak guessed it was working somehow because Alistair had reached out with his free hand to hold Miraak’s, and seemed to be bearing up a little.

“It was all for nothing,” Alistair whispered. “All for nothing – I lost my virginity to someone I didn’t love or even like to save Lyra’s life and mine, and you’re telling me I could have said no, killed the Archdemon and not died.”

“And then been a Dragonborn with no idea what you were, and likely a target for every passing demon with an eye for power,” Miraak said, his own life rankling at him. “You would have known less than even I did when I started out. And look how I ended up. You weren’t to know. It was not the fault of any of you. You did your best.”

“And it was not for nothing,” Fiona said, a fierceness in her voice that belied the tenderness with which she held Alistair. “There’s a child, a Dragonborn child! Maybe you promised not to be involved, but I didn’t. I wish to know my grandchild. And you said it yourself, Miraak. Just as a mage with no one to train them is a risk, how much more a Dragonborn. We need to find them, bring them here and train them in the Thu’um. Don’t we, Inquisitor.”

Miraak looked up, saw Fiona’s determination, and realised he’d acquired an unexpected ally.

“My thoughts exactly,” Miraak said, grinning. “But first, tell me more of this agreement. This ritual that was supposed to save you, how did it work?”

“I don’t really know,” Alistair admitted. “But Morrigan seemed to think if the nearest Blighted creature was a Grey Warden’s unborn child, the unformed child soul wouldn’t be destroyed. It’d merge with the dragon’s, and the kid would be born with the old god dragon’s soul. Apparently Morrigan wanted to save the Archdemon from the Blight, Lyra didn’t want us to die, it worked out. I just… had to have sex with Morrigan. I mean, it wasn’t unpleasant? But it was bloody weird and I don’t really like talking or thinking about it, and then I met Bethany and have been happy with her ever since.”

“What does she think of all this?” Dorian asked, and Alistair flinched guiltily.

“I never told her,” Alistair whispered, mortified. “Ah fuck.”

Awkward indeed, and Miraak did sympathise. He didn’t envy Alistair having to explain this one, but he had some time to prepare. At the moment they had neither Bethany nor Dragonborn child anyway.

But Morrigan, former friend of Lyra Surana. That was something to work with. That was something Leliana could look for, and they had an approximate location. What this Morrigan would think of them, Miraak had no idea. But if you’d wanted to produce a Dragonborn, this ritual seemed tailor-made to do it. He had a feeling she’d know, at least on some level, what her child was. 

Whether she’d want an adult male Dragonborn muscling in and insisting on mentoring her child was another matter entirely. But Miraak owed it to this child to try. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Alistair and Fiona on their way, and Miraak walked Dorian as far as the library, which still gave him shivers even now. It would be a very long time indeed before large collections of books didn’t make Miraak nervous. 

Dorian didn’t even seem to mind, just settling down in his chair, the Eye of Miraak settling in his lap to watch over him as always because damned if Miraak just left him unprotected around the books. Mora was not finding his lokaal if Miraak could help it.

But for now Dorian was safe and happy and watched over, and Miraak went upstairs to find his spymaster… arguing with Cullen apparently.

“I’m sorry,” Leliana gasped at a scowling Cullen. Cullen slammed a scroll on the table, snapped “So am I” and then took his leave, only flinching a little as he took in Miraak’s eyes boring into him.

“Do I need to speak with him,” Miraak said softly, because while advisors disagreeing was one thing, Leliana actually looked hurt.

“No, no,” Leliana said softly, not meeting his eyes. “He was just dropping off the names of those we lost at Haven.”

“That in no way needed to come to you,” Miraak said, coming to stand with her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Why was he here? If it was to rub it in, that is not his job.”

“No but… when word of trouble first came in, I withdrew my agents,” Leliana said, shaking her head, clearly still grieved. “If I’d left them in the field, they could have slowed Corypheus’s forces, bought us more time!”

Miraak recalled asking Dorian last night if he’d done the right thing and wondered if they were all going to start second-guessing themselves. Should he check on Josephine next??

“Could they have stopped him advancing at all?” Miraak asked. “Prevented the battle entirely?”

“No, of course not-” Leliana stopped and sighed, conceding that at least.

“Then do not dwell,” Miraak told her. “We all did the best we could with what we had that night. I used Bend Will on that dragon and Liriel used Dragonrend, and neither worked, and I am starting to think I should have shouted the Blight out of it instead. That might have done more to help than any other act. We survived. Corypheus fled the field. He did not get what he was after and we struck him a blow. That is what matters. Don’t let the past weigh you down, fahdoni. Think of the future.”

Leliana stared at the table, then smiled to herself.

“It was not just on me,” Leliana said quietly. “And I still have most of my agents. We can make use of them yet. If you can make mistakes… maybe the rest of us do not need to be perfect either.”

“Maybe not,” Miraak said, uncomfortably reminded of Thom telling him last night he was more of an inspiration as a fallen sinner trying to atone than he’d ever be as an uncorrupted hero. Dear Akatosh, no, Miraak wasn’t a heroic inspiration!

Still, if it made Leliana smile again, it was worth it.

“I will think on it, Inquisitor,” Leliana told him, smiling up at him. “Now, did you need something?”

As a matter of fact, yes. Two things in fact.

“Morrigan was a companion of yours during the Blight. Do you know what happened to her?”

“I know… some of it, anyway,” Leliana said, staring out of the window. “She disappeared very thoroughly after the victory celebrations, but Lyra traced her later. She was last seen disappearing through a portal to who knows where and we lost all trace of her for years… but she did resurface a couple of years ago.”

“In Orlais. Northwest of here,” Miraak said, looking rather pleased with himself for knowing this.

“Yes, how did you…” Leliana was frowning at him and Miraak just smiled.

“I have sources. I know her approximate location but not the details. You found her? Where is she? What’s she doing?”

“You and I are going to have to talk about your sources one day,” Leliana said, eyebrows knotting together in a frown. “But yes, I know what she’s doing. Would you believe she’s at the Imperial Court in Halamshiral? She’s arcane advisor to the Empress herself. Managed to completely usurp Vivienne’s role, although Vivienne is still officially Court Enchanter. I’ve been watching her for some time. She knows some dark magic, Inquisitor. You should be careful.”

“I also have dangerous magic at my own disposal,” Miraak said, smile just widening. “Thank you, Leliana. There was talk of us going to the Orlesian Court, wasn’t there? Empress Celene is holding some manner of peace talks that Josephine wanted us to attend.”

“The Grand Masquerade Ball, yes,” Leliana said thoughtfully. “It will not be for some time yet. And Josephine is very much working on the invitation. But if we can get in… Celene was assassinated in that Dark Future. The ball would be a perfect opportunity to strike. I don’t know if Morrigan is involved. She has no Tevinter connections I know of. But she was never known for her loyalty. She was always a loner. She might turn against Celene if someone else made her a better offer.”

“What if we made her an offer?” Miraak asked. It sounded like Leliana’s opinion of Morrigan wasn’t a lot better than Alistair’s. All the same, it sounded like Lyra had trusted her, and she’d helped fight the Archdemon – given Lyra and Alistair a chance to survive in fact. She wasn’t all bad… and even doing it because she felt sorry for the Archdemon and wanted to save it from the Blight was commendable in a way. It was in fact the sort of thing Miraak might have done. If he’d had a womb of course.

“You want to recruit her for the Inquisition? Are you serious??” Leliana gasped, staring at him.

“Yes,” Miraak said, folding his arms and standing firm. “She’s a mage of powerful and unconventional abilities. We can use that. Also I am reliably informed she has something of interest. I want that something here at Skyhold. For that to happen, she needs to be with us.”

Leliana shook her head, rubbing her forehead.

“We would need to prove she is not actively working with the Venatori,” Leliana sighed. “I have suspicions but no real evidence. And she would have to agree. Morrigan works alone, Inquisitor. She does not form alliances. She even had Lyra kill her own mother. Who turned out to be able to turn into a dragon, can you believe?”

No, Miraak could not believe, but now he wanted very badly indeed to meet Morrigan.

“If she knows how to do that and can teach me, she’s hired,” Miraak said instantly, entire face lighting up. And to his surprise, Leliana stared and then burst out laughing.

“Of course you want to learn that,” Leliana laughed. “In truth, I am surprised you can’t. Ah, never mind. All right, Inquisitor. I’ll have my agents monitor her and when we get to the ball, as long as she’s not working with the Venatori, we’ll see if she can be made an ally of. But be warned, Inquisitor. She’s not trustworthy.”

That didn’t matter. It was her child Miraak was after. If he could win her trust and befriend her, all well and good. But if not… if he could get to the child anyway… well, maybe he could work with that. And dragon shapeshifting?? He’d not even known that was possible! He definitely had to learn that if he could.

“Was there anything else, Inquisitor?”

Yes. Yes, there was, wasn’t there. Miraak tore his mind from fantasies of soaring through the skies like a mighty Dovah and returned his thoughts to the present, and the other matter he’d wished to know about.

“What have you got on the Callier massacre?”

“The Callier massacre?” Leliana gasped, clearly having heard of it. “That was a dark business. An entire family, murdered! Even the children! Young children at that, none could have mistaken them for adults. What is our interest in the matter?”

Miraak led her aside to avoid prying eyes.

“Say we had intelligence on one of the perpetrators. Thom Rainier.”

Leliana’s eyebrows rose, surprise on her face, but she also looked pleased.

“The Orlesians would reward us handsomely for information on his whereabouts,” Leliana said thoughtfully. “Even more if we handed him over. Where is he? And… how do you know about him when I did not?”

“I’d rather not say,” Miraak said, hating himself for ordering this but also knowing he’d feel worse about the alternative. “What if we’re not turning him in?”

“What… why would you not?” Leliana gasped. “The man ordered children killed! Children, Miraak!”

“I know,” Miraak said softly. “But he’s an Inquisition member. Joined up under a false name, made himself indispensable and has been an asset ever since. Not only that, he’s been living under that identity for years. He’s trying to atone, be a better person. He’s not the same man as he was. I… would like to give him another chance if I can. So what can we do about the charges.”

“This is murder of a noble, Miraak, there are children involved!” Leliana said sharply. “And Lord Callier was a close supporter of the current Empress, she won’t let it slide! And we might need Celene’s favour. This is no petty crime we can bribe officials to ignore or that could be settled with coin.”

Miraak had been afraid of that.

“Our best course of action is for no one to know of this,” Leliana sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I will compile a report for you, to be delivered confidentially. And I do have people close to the Orlesian courts and guards. I will monitor for any leads on Rainier that come up and inform you. Inquisitor, if they turn up evidence pointing to us…”

“I know,” Miraak said softly. “I will take responsibility. In the meantime, gaining influence at court might help, yes? Perhaps if Celene owes us. We’re going to that ball anyway, we might be able to increase our leverage as well as prevent her assassination.”

“Maybe,” Leliana said, although she clearly didn’t entirely approve of this. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Herald.”

Frankly, no. By all rights he should be having Thom arrested. But… 

Vahlok had sacrificed his beloved nieces and nephew to the dragons and called it justice. Then they’d come for Greta and her kids, and that had kickstarted the Dragon War in earnest as the Jarl of Windhelm killed the cult’s envoys and declared for the Tongues. Miraak had seen from Apocrypha, approved and learnt then that obeying the law wasn’t always the right thing to do.

Disobeying this one wasn’t necessarily the right thing, but it wasn’t wrong either. Thom might not deserve mercy, but nor had Miraak and he’d got it anyway, on condition he do something spectacular to atone.

Maybe Thom could do something to atone too. More than he’d manage if they hung him anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cullen was in his tower office, looking annoyed about something. Gods only knew what, but there was much to organise. Skyhold was looking a lot better than it had when they’d first moved in but not quite good enough. Not quite. Not yet.

Wasn’t what he wanted to discuss anyway.

“Cullen,” Miraak announced. “You do not need to always get along with your colleagues, but the way you spoke to Leliana earlier was unacceptable. Don’t do it again.”

Cullen had the grace to look guilty. 

“I’ll apologise to her, Inquisitor. I’m sorry. It’s just… she’s not the one who has to tell the kin who did make it here that we lost their relatives. And her decisions may have cost lives.”

“All our decisions can cost lives, and sometimes there isn’t a way that doesn’t,” Miraak snapped, trying not to remember dragons descending on Solstheim. “I could have saved lives, maybe even Haven, if I’d used a different Shout on the dragon. Didn’t occur to me until later. Something Alistair said about how Archdemons can only be killed by Wardens.”

“You weren’t to know that, Inquisitor-” and then Cullen took his point. “All right. Point taken. I’ll try to be more understanding. It’s just been a rough day and… Your Worship, I never mentioned this before because you weren’t officially in charge, but now you are, you should know.”

Ominous. Also intriguing.

“What is it? Nothing that will compromise your position, I trust?”

“Not yet,” Cullen said, not meeting his eyes. “You know Templars get their power from taking lyrium. It lets them stop magic, but it also comes at a price. It’s addictive, and it also causes dementia in later life.”

Miraak had not known that.

“Are you telling me you and our entire force of Templars are drug addicts??” Miraak hissed. “That makes us fatally dependent on our lyrium supply, Cullen! I can cope with no longer having Templar abilities to call on, but not a force of addicts in withdrawal!”

Miraak had had to deal with the occasional moon sugar addict before now. They were always, always, trouble.

“Our lyrium supply is secure, and our Templars are coping on their daily rations. Only… I no longer take it.”

“You… no longer take it. The substance you’ve been dependent on for years.” 

Miraak rubbed his forehead, wondering why the hell no one had told him this before. Well. He’d not been officially the leader, had he? And now he had to deal with his bloody commander being a damn addict.

“What are the withdrawal symptoms, exactly?” Miraak said wearily. “Irritability? Impatience? Short temper? And who else knows. You don’t just decide to do this alone.”

“Seeker Cassandra is aware,” Cullen said, gritting his teeth and glaring at Miraak. “Mostly it is muscle pain. There are knock-on effects on my temper. Seeker Cassandra is watching me, Inquisitor. If she detects a problem, she will arrange to have me removed from duty. I suppose now she’ll make a recommendation to you instead.”

Miraak was half-tempted to order him back onto it right now, but for the time being he’d live with it. For now.

“I detect any problems with your performance, I will replace you myself,” Miraak growled. “But… I suppose it is a brave thing to do. Why, I might add? Other than wishing to avoid lyrium dementia, of course.”

“Because I will not be bound to that life any longer,” Cullen said, staring at the desk. “Whatever the consequences, whatever the suffering, I accept it. My own crimes as part of the Order will never be punished legally. Perhaps this will do instead as penance.”

That sounded familiar. Gods damn it, was there a man in this Inquisition not doing penance for something?? Well. Iron Bull wasn’t. Dorian didn’t have anything to atone for either. But as it was, with him, Blackwall, Varric blaming himself for Corypheus’s return, and now Cullen, they had quite the little gang forming. They should have a cards night. Drinks for the atoning war criminals.

Miraak recalled begging Dorian for punishment and not getting it – well, not getting the humiliation he’d been hoping for anyway. What did Cullen have. And what would a dominant with principles do?

“Don’t see it as a punishment,” Miraak said softly. “See it as… moving on. The Chantry’s crimes, the _Circle’s_ crimes – they are not the sins of one person. They are on the institutions. Restitution and justice are the Inquisition’s job – my job. It is not on you alone. If you must do this… don’t just rely on Cassandra. When you apologise to Leliana, tell her about this. She might already know, but it will be different hearing it from you. You are not punishing yourself, you are _healing_ yourself. And people being healed take advice from healers. They also take pain medication on the bad days, don’t they.”

“I… yes, Inquisitor,” Cullen admitted. “Inquisitor, you have to know I did and said some horrific things as a Templar. I once said mages weren’t people! And told Lyra Surana to have an entire Circle annulled including children because some might still be abominations. She said no. Thankfully.”

“Oh, like I haven’t done worse,” Miraak sighed. “When the Dragon Cult went to war, we did not show mercy to our foes either. You know what I was, what I deserved as my fate. You gave me another chance. Show the same to yourself. You are making amends and doing better, no? What was it Dorian said? That’s all any of us can do? You are doing your best, Cullen.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Cullen said quietly, hands on the desk, staring down at it, at the odd equipment with a Fereldan version of Andraste on the box lid which Miraak realised might be equipment for taking lyrium. “You are more understanding than I deserve. You know I argued for keeping you on mostly practical grounds, don’t you? Leliana’s the one who actually likes you.”

“I know,” Miraak said, lips twitching at this. “I also recall you hearing I’d spent thousands of years in a hell dimension in the Fade and offering sympathy. You did not have to. But it was well-meant. Lead my armies with honour, Commander. That’s all I ask. For the rest… you are not alone. I have Dorian, and Dorian makes me show vulnerability. I don’t know what you have… but you should lean on your colleagues if no one else.”

Cullen said nothing, thinking this over. Then…

“Maybe I will tell Leliana, it’ll provide an excuse for my temper if nothing else,” Cullen sighed. “Perhaps… perhaps Rylen and my other direct reports could stand to know. Ambassador Montilyet too, maybe. I will think about it, Your Worship.”

Miraak hoped he would. That he seemed serious about giving up lyrium boded well, but not if the withdrawal killed him. Miraak would have to see. Still, he’d managed all this time all on his own. What more could he do if he just opened up for once.

“I ought to thank you, you know,” Cullen added, and Miraak tensed up immediately. He did not like Cullen’s tone at all. “For being, well… you.”

“Thank you, Cullen. Mind explaining what that actually means?” Miraak said, wary.

“Just that you’ve done terrible things as well, but you’re still here trying and surviving and managing to make all this look easy. I wasn’t tormented by demons for anything close to what you had to put up with. If you can do it… I should be able to as well.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Miraak said quietly, remembering endless green skies, black tentacles, going out of his mind with boredom and always the fear Mora might decide today was the day he’d pay his plaything a visit… or tire of him entirely and end him. “Also you are not Dragonborn. Had I not been… I might have ended up a tentacled horror myself.”

That his eyes were still blue and not the Daedric black that indicated the taint of Apocrypha had taken hold was a miracle Miraak still gave thanks for every day.

“All the same, you’re very together for a man who had all that happen to him,” Cullen said, watching him with surprise. “I met you days after your escape, remember. Anyone else would have been a screaming wreck but not you.”

“The adrenaline had yet to wear off,” Miraak told him with a smile. “Note it took me weeks to feel safe enough to remove the mask in public, and it took Dorian’s help to do it. I still don’t always feel real but the Inquisition is helping.”

He deliberately did not mention sitting in a bath on his own in the cabin and huddling up, shaking all over, afraid he’d open his eyes and be sitting in Apocrypha’s slime or that tentacles would rise up to claim him. Or sitting by the lake, staring at the sky, blue visible from the mask slits and tears rolling down his cheeks as he realised he was free. Completely lost and unmoored, his people and religion gone… but free. There’d been many days he’d feared he was going mad, and hours spent staring into space in private and private crying fits he’d hated himself for, wrapping in blankets and weeping for his mother, Saering, his kin, the cult, his dragons, all of it. He’d even mourned Zaan, and he’d hated Zaan.

It had taken a while to truly get used to it all and pull himself together, and it had been thanks to the travelling, the missions, getting to spend time with people like Varric and Blackwall and Cassandra and Vivienne… and later Dorian, of course.

What had Cullen had?

“I don’t know what you went through and you don’t have to tell me, but… it is possible to recover, Cullen. Just… talk to people. Let them help you.”

“I will try, Inquisitor. And… thank you.”

Miraak wished he wouldn’t. Bad enough Blackwall thought he was an inspiration. He didn’t need Cullen thinking it as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Blackwall was next on the list and despite reports he’d slept in, unusual for him, Miraak found him up and about, carving some wooden… horse… thing?

“What are you carving?” Miraak asked, frowning at it. It looked familiar but he couldn’t place it.

“This? Just something to keep the hands busy. Unless you wanted to know what it is. It’s a griffin. The Wardens used to have them as winged mounts. Then they went extinct. I don’t know why.”

It looked like a winged lion with an eagle’s head, not the sort of thing you’d expect to be real. Then again, perhaps no one expected dragons to be real either. When you thought about it, they didn’t really make sense. Miraak had memories of the Reach Ambassador once drunkenly wanting to know how dragons _worked_. Seriously, how did they work? How did a thing that size and weight stay in the air? How did the Thu’um work? Why didn’t they breed? Why why why…

Ambassador Caradach ap Eola could out-why his niece Saara and that was an achievement. But the man was long-dead and thankfully Dorian hadn’t yet started asking questions about how dragons worked.

So was Saara and Miraak preferred not to think about that for too long. Better to remember the tiny child who’d pestered him with questions and loved watching the dragons from the temple with him. Miraak truly missed having children around. The Inquisition’s children were usually hauled away by parents or siblings or Enchanters and told not to bother the Inquisitor before he had a chance to really talk to them.

“You know you don’t have to pretend around me any more,” Miraak told him. “You don’t need to pretend to give a shit about Wardens if you don’t really.”

Blackwall lowered his tools, not looking up.

“I never said I didn’t care,” Blackwall said, voice fierce but low. “I might not be him, but he was a man willing to give his life to do the right thing. How can I not respect that. How can I not respect his legacy. Me, I’m scum, I know that. But he was a good man.”

“He likely was,” Miraak said, thinking over Leliana’s file on the real Blackwall. “I wish I’d had a chance to meet him. But don’t count yourself out. You are not without honour.”

“A dead man’s borrowed honour and we both know it,” Blackwall said, returning to his work. “But you let me stay and serve anyway. I will always be grateful for that. Even if the worst happens and you’re forced to give me up. I won’t forget you gave me a chance, Inquisitor.”

“Don’t, I had enough of that from Cullen this morning,” Miraak sighed. “I am an appalling human being who is acting heroically to impress Dorian. I am no inspiration.”

“Now who’s selling themselves short,” Blackwall chuckled, glancing up at him, sly grin on his face. “All right, Your Worship. You’re a terrifying bastard all set to bring the Wrath of the Maker to his foes, I know that. But you know you’re more than that to the people out there. They believe in you, Herald. They believe you’re the hero that’s going to save the world, fight for order and justice.”

“Of course they do,” Miraak purred, remembering fighting Corypheus, taunting him… and the look on his face as he realised he’d just lost his prized orb. “Because I will do that and enjoy myself in the process. But there is nothing holy about me.”

“You survived a hell realm for longer than anyone’s been alive and you’re here to tell the tale,” Blackwall said solemnly, finally turning to meet Miraak’s gaze. “Never mind the truth, Miraak. They need to believe you’re the hero the stories claim you are. They need to believe the Maker sent you, that it was him who snatched you away from certain martyrdom and him who brought you back to help at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Even the ones who know a demon did it think the Maker kept you safe all that time and brought you back. I think even Seeker Cassandra thinks it. She won’t say it. But I think she thinks it.”

Oh gods, that was all he needed, this mania of inspiration infecting Cassandra too. How ironic, when he’d got here he’d seen the Inquisition and plotted how best it might serve as the foundation of a new Cult of Miraak… and now it had actually happened, without him actually intentionally crafting it or Bend Willing anyone. And Miraak didn’t know how to react at all, because it just wasn’t who he was any more, and more to the point, the adulation was not based on the truth about him and could all come crashing down at any moment, and the whole idea of him as some Andrastian saviour now made him want to hug Dorian very tightly.

Once you started interacting with people as real people, realising most of them weren’t seeing you as one was a disconcerting thought.

“I’m not…. Oh gods. Blackwall, this is exhausting,” Miraak said, shaking his head and not wanting to think about this any more. “Let them believe what they need to. I have an Inquisition to run. Now. Let us talk of other things. Did you spend time with Serana last night?”

“And if I did?”

Blackwall’s attempt to outstare Miraak faltered before it even got started.

“She doesn’t need me to defend her honour, but she is my guest. Is there something I should know?”

“No. Not as such,” Blackwall admitted. “We did sit up late, talking. She’s a fascinating woman. She was telling me about her family. Nobles from a far off castle I’d never have heard of. Funny how that goes with you and your friends. All from places we’ve never heard of.”

“Serana’s distant kin to my people, she hails from the same land,” Miraak told him. “And from what I’ve gleaned, her family had particular reason to be reclusive.”

“Aye, she told me about her maleficar father,” Blackwall said, shaking his head. What Serana had told him exactly, Miraak didn’t like to imagine. “Trying to achieve immortality, making pacts with demons, some prophecy that he’d get ultimate power if he found a way to put out the sun. Apparently Serana and her mother ran away with these older scrolls that contained the rest of the prophecy to stop him getting his hands on them, and then Serana found Liriel who offered to help and ended up killing her father for her and rescuing her mother who’d hidden out in the Fade, can you believe.”

Miraak could definitely believe, and resolved to get the unedited version off Serana himself later.

“Anyway, with a past like that, Lady Serana deserves everything life can offer her,” Blackwall continued. “She deserves better than me, I know that. But she’s charming company, and beautiful to boot. Tell me, Miraak, are all your people stunningly attractive? I’m not into men, but you’re an imposing sight and I can see why Dorian took one look and lost his head completely. I’ve heard half the women of Skyhold mourning that they never had a chance with you. And Lady Serana is… something else again.”

Faint blush of pink on Blackwall’s cheeks, and a happy little smile on his face, and Miraak hoped he didn’t look like that when thinking of Dorian. Did Dorian look like that when he was thinking of him? Miraak wasn’t sure, but part of him hoped it was so, at least sometimes.

“Well, be careful,” Miraak warned him. “I doubt she told you everything about herself. She’s honourable, yes, but also dangerous. Watch yourself.”

“I feel I should be put off by that, but in all honesty, Inquisitor, I’m still not afraid,” Blackwall said, still that besotted look on his face. “I’m not worthy of her, and she’s not indicated she’s interested anyway. But… I don’t fear her. Even if she’s dangerous… ah, I probably deserve it.”

Thom did not deserve being Serana’s thrall, or even her willing blood source for that matter. Still, if he wouldn’t be put off…

“Be careful then,” Miraak told him. “I know your crimes merit atonement for… but that shouldn’t be being harmed by your own lover.”

Blackwall’s eyes went to Miraak’s collar then, the Inquisition symbol on display even if the band it was attached to nestled under the collar of his formal tunic. Mercifully he said nothing.

“ _Non-consensual harm,_ ” Miraak said pointedly. “And the consensual part’s not always safe. Do what you must, but if you need help… come to me. Serana is strong but so am I.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Blackwall said, eyes moving away from the collar and meeting Miraak’s. “Very well, Inquisitor. I don’t think it’ll ever be necessary. I know my worth and I know Serana’s. But if I ever need you, I’ll be sure to find you.”

Miraak hoped so too. He didn’t think Serana would intentionally hurt Blackwall… but when a vampire got involved with a mortal human, the potential for harm was always there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Josephine was last on the list, and it turned out the reason she wanted to see him was to do with the stone for his kin memorial.

“What do you mean it’s not coming. You said demand for stone had been through the floor due to the war! Do they not know who we are??”

“It’s not that simple, Inquisitor,” Josephine sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Sahrnia quarry would have been an ideal supplier – the war led to customers cancelling their orders and they’re not far away, they’d be glad for the business. But… no one can get hold of them.”

“No one can…” All right, perhaps there was a legitimate problem. “Why not, what happened.”

“Unusually cold weather has frozen the river and snows have blocked the roads. The entire Emprise is cut off. That might be considered merely unfortunate, messere but… the bridges have also been destroyed, deliberately it appears. And… a maidservant of a family friend of mine recently returned from the Emprise speaking of strange red crystals in the fields and these strange soldiers in the area. Your Worship, I fear Red Templar involvement.”

“I don’t get my kin memorial because of fucking Corypheus’s minions? Unbelievable,” Miraak snapped. “Get us in there, Ambassador. I want to find out what’s going on.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, consulting her notes. “I mentioned the river had frozen over. That has stopped river traffic but it might be our way in. We will need sturdy mounts and our bravest soldiers, used to the cold. It will take considerable resources, but we do have those resources.”

Just about, it turned out. And morale improved immensely once Miraak decided he was going in person. Except for Dorian’s, for whom the choice between being away from Miraak or having to trek through the mountains was not remotely an easy one.

So Miraak made it for him and told him he was taking Vivienne instead. Vivienne’s luxury tent would be very much an asset in the mountains. So would Iron Bull’s knack for providing entertainment. And of all the rogues, Varric was the one Miraak got on with the best.

And so Inquisition forces trekked up the Elfsblood River’s frozen valley, making slow but steady progress, Miraak at the front inspecting the ice along with a few Avvar recruits, recalling his father teaching him and Halbard how to detect weaknesses in the ice.

He’d not thought it would come in useful here, but there it was. Maybe Harknir might actually be proud of him.

_We’re doing this for your memorial, old man. I hope you’re happy._

Of course, on arrival at Sahrnia, it soon became apparent there was far more at stake than one stone delivery. It turned out the quarry owner, facing ruin, had sold her quarry to the Red Templars.

“You _sold_ it to them??” Miraak roared. “What were you thinking, woman??”

“Please, messere, all our customers cancelled their stone orders because of the war! No one wants a new bathroom or fountain for their garden while the war rages! We were desperate, the Templars were helping! They were kind at first! They brought supplies! They offered coin. People went to work, they had jobs, there was hope! It was only later they changed. Workers stopped coming home. They stopped being kind. Then they started… taking people. And the red crystals appeared. Please, messere, I know it was wrong, but we have suffered more than any for my mistake.”

Mistress Poulin appeared to be doing a damn sight better than the other villagers, but what good would pointing out the price had been paid by others do.

“I will take back that quarry but it will be Inquisition property after this,” Miraak growled. “I _might_ consider putting you in charge of it. Inquisition, let’s move.”

“Practical decision, darling, I approve,” Vivienne purred, following him out of the village. “These poor people have suffered enough under her poor leadership.”

“Yeah,” Bull added. “You shouldn’t have an important economic resource that an entire community relies on under the ownership of one person. Because then you get shit decisions like this and suddenly outsiders are taking your resources and telling you what to do. You don’t get that under the Qun.”

Thank Bormahu Solas and Cassandra weren’t in the party, because that would definitely have started an argument, but while Vivienne glared, she said nothing, and Varric was ever the diplomatic type.

And then they found the lyrium. Lots of it, ugly red stone living in destroyed buildings and along the road, and… melting the snow. Odd.

“It’s warm,” Miraak realised. “Red lyrium gives off heat. Interesting.”

“Like it’s alive,” Varric said, shivering. “That’s reassuring. Can we please get out of here?”

“And it’s singing,” Miraak said, listening closer.

“That really isn’t! Tentacles, please, everyone who’s heard it singing has gone mad and killed a load of people, can you please leave it alone?”

“I know the song,” Miraak murmured, hand inches from the lyrium. “Blight song – this has the Blight??”

“Andraste’s ass, I cannot handle this – who wants to tell Sparkler the Inquisitor went crazy from red lyrium. Because that is not a job I’m volunteering for.”

“All right, boss, maybe you should step away from the tainted rock now,” Bull said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait, I want to try something,” Miraak insisted. “Need to see if my Thu’um can cleanse this.”

Vivienne placed a hand on Bull’s arm and led him back. 

“Let him work, darling. Nothing else has helped.”

That Vivienne still had faith in him despite certain terse words on mage freedom of late was reassuring. Maybe this would win her over.

“SLEN SKAH VO!”

The shout hit the stone and… did nothing. Fuck.

“What?? That worked on Alistair!” Miraak cried. “Gods take this Blighted fucking country and it’s fucking tainted singing stone that’s ruining my Thu’um and… wait. I know what I did wrong. Let me sit over here and get my breath back.”

Varric could take no more of this and could be seen going over to what had once been someone’s herb garden and uprooting elfroot out of sheer frustration. Miraak ignored him and crouched by a rock, thinking it over and before long he was ready to try again.

“GOL SKAH VO!”

Thu’um hit lyrium. The red lyrium start glowing gold, orange fire blazing, too bright to look at, and then gold fire shot into the air, burned out… and left untainted blue lyrium behind it.

“Holy shit,” was Bull’s response. Even Vivienne was impressed. And Varric… Varric had seen and was cackling, rubbing his hands in glee.

“Holy shit, we have made back all the expedition costs from this alone!” Varric laughed. “Tentacles, I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

Miraak patted Varric on the back, then put an arm round Bull as well, and would have hugged Vivienne too had he not seen her face and thought better of it. It was true though, this would sort out the Inquisition’s lyrium needs for some time to come. They’d still need Dwarven assistance to transport and handle it of course, and cancelling the lyrium contracts with Orzammar entirely was likely unwise. But perhaps the price-gouging would stop now.

Back to the camp to start making arrangements, a bird sent to Josephine announcing they had a lyrium source now, make arrangements to collect it, and then on to the actual task of liberating the Emprise.

That proved harder. Fighting the Templars was hard enough, but Miraak’s Thu’um shattered their lines and knocked them down and left them easy prey for Bull. First one Templar base fell… then another, with even one of their Behemoths not being enough to withstand Miraak and Vivienne’s frost magic combined… or Bull’s axe shattering it after.

The hardest part was the sheer amount of red lyrium to cleanse, and Miraak ended up just dealing with the stone nearest the new Inquisition camps, and leaving the rest. Dagna the Arcanist apparently could make use of even the red lyrium in her enchantments, so perhaps it didn’t all need cleaning right now. He could send Alistair along to do some more later.

And then they set up camp in the middle of the Emprise, near the ominously named Tower of Bone, and made for the quarry.

More red lyrium here, more Templars – they’d expected the bulk to be stationed here. But not the cages full of terrified villagers who revealed the Templars had been using their comrades to grow the lyrium.

Even Miraak was appalled by that.

“The way is clear, get yourselves to our camp, they’ll take care of you,” Miraak told them, wondering just when this sort of thing had started bothering him this much. He’d once sacrificed people to the Dov without a thought. Apparently the Templars doing the same by sacrificing villagers to the lyrium bothered him now.

_That’s different._

_Yes it is, you weren’t ordering it this time._

_Fuck that, I rebelled._

_Eventually. After a demon told you to._

That and guilt. Apparently indirectly causing the death of a hated rival in the process had bothered him, then and now.

It didn’t matter. He was here and these people needed him. So on it was, clearing out the quarry, cleansing lyrium, killing Templars, freeing villagers… and finding out some interesting things. Documents from Samson himself – Cullen would find these of interest. And orders to a lieutenant to… give goods and supplies to Mistress Poulin in exchange for names. Names of villagers for the Templars to take.

“Collaboration with the enemy. You know, people normally hang for that, darling,” Vivienne noted.

“You know, if you summarily executed her at the village, I’d be OK with that,” Bull added.

“What is wrong with you two – at least give her a trial!” Varric cried. “You think the Templars were giving her much of a choice?”

“She did not tell me this before,” Miraak growled. “I do dislike being lied to. But… I suppose a trial is the usual process. I am not giving her the quarry back.”

“No one’s saying you should, Tentacles,” Varric said quietly. Indeed not, and Miraak already had some ideas. But before that, there was one item left on the agenda. Apparently operations were not being run from the quarry but from the old elven keep on the hill.

Miraak did like that keep. It was very pretty. It would look even prettier with the red lyrium gone and Inquisition banners on it.

Taking it was not easy. They had giants. _Giants._

Until Miraak bent the will of the first one they met and then things got rather easier. With a giant on their side, they were able to power through the keep, and Miraak took great pleasure on unleashing his new giant friend on the demon who’d been organising all this in the first place, turning down the creature’s pathetic attempt to bargain.

“You have nothing to bargain with, Daedra,” Miraak mocked as demon met giant and did not come off well. Neither came off well, and after finishing the demon, the giant too perished from its injuries.

“Rest well, friend,” Miraak said softly, closing its eyes. “Bormahu ofan drem.”

“If friend is the right word for you mind-controlling it with the Voice,” Vivienne said pointedly.

“Hey, cut him some slack, the giant didn’t want to be here either,” Varric pointed out.

“Would you have rather had to fight it?” Miraak asked, getting up. Obviously not but Vivienne still couldn’t sit easy with something that was almost certainly contrary to Andraste’s teachings even if it wasn’t technically forbidden. At least he was restricting it to beasts. And he did have a point – Vivienne would not have wanted to fight giants without one on her side. Still. Still.

The keep claimed and it was back to Sahrnia to arrest Mistress Poulin.

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “What would you have had me do? They would have killed us all if I had not done it.”

“You could have confessed earlier,” Miraak snapped. “It would have gone better for you if you had. As it is, you are never getting that quarry back. I’m claiming it as an Inquisition asset. You produce stone for us now. I have a keep to build… and a memorial needing building. Take her away. Now who’s in charge with her gone.”

No one, it turned out, but several of them were quite bright and they all knew how the trade worked and… within an hour, Orlais had its first worker-run cooperative set up, Miraak taking inspiration and a few tips from Bull on how the Qun organised this sort of thing, and had he but known it, the cooperative would exist long after the Inquisition ended and survive future Orlesian social upheavals for a long time to come.

“Taking advice from a Qunari?” Vivienne said, nose wrinkling, and Miraak just shrugged.

“He had some to give, and I found it useful. Vivienne, I’ve no intention of converting, but I have no desire to run this quarry myself. They run it themselves, it saves me a job. Should it go badly, perhaps I’ll intervene. If it goes well… we get stone for Skyhold’s mage tower and my kin get their memorial.”

“See, Tentacles, that’s what I like about you. Most heroes turn up and are pleased because they saved the situation and stopped a great evil. You turned up because your stone delivery didn’t happen, and once you’ve sorted everyone out, all you care about is your memorial stone.”

“We had a mission objective and we achieved it,” Miraak said firmly. “I… suppose all the gratitude, the new lyrium supply and the stunningly beautiful keep are acceptable side benefits.”

They were indeed, and it wasn’t long before Alistair and Dorian made the journey to see the newly refurbished Suledin Keep themselves.

“Wow, this place is great!” Alistair gasped. “You can see for miles, and it’s so pretty! Can I invite Mum down here?”

“Yes, if you want,” Miraak said, amused. “All this architecture is old elven buildings, she might find it of interest. I will need you here for a time anyway, zeymah. I need to teach you the Shout to cleanse lyrium. We need it to boost our stores.”

“Ooh, yeah, good timing,” Alistair said, recalling developments just before they’d left. “There’s trouble in Orzammar and the lyrium supply dried up. We were going to wait for you to come back, but Josephine was free and happened to have received diplomatic contact from King Bhelen a bit before so she sent a delegation to find out what was going on and… well, it turns out they’re having earthquakes out there. Big ones. That aren’t subsiding. Mines are collapsing, the mining’s had to stop, they’re upping their prices on what they do have…”

“You want me to go out there and negotiate,” Miraak finished. “Do you want me to use the Thu’um to stop the earthquakes? I have never tried, but I might be able to.”

Alistair shook his head. 

“No. At least not yet. We already sent a party out to the Storm Coast where the main fissure opened up. We also had to use a load of resources to build a platform lift down there to the Deep Roads, what with the dwarves not able to come topside. Er. I hope that’s all right. I was going to volunteer myself but if dragon blood attracts darkspawn, I don’t know if I should be down there any more. It’s all right though, we sent Blackwall instead. And Cole and Solas. And… and my mum’s going. Because she’s immune to the Taint somehow, it’s why she left the Wardens. I mean, she was one once, she’s done this sort of thing before, she’ll be fine, I’m sure. Only she was a lot younger then and… and I miss her.”

Of course he did. Poor man must be worried sick about his mother going into danger and him no longer able to join her. Miraak put an arm round him and hugged him, letting Alistair snuggle into his shoulder. He was one of the few people Alistair, at six foot two, could actually do this with.

“She will be all right, Alistair. She is a mage. Getting older just means we’ve had time to get better at our craft. She has that impressive frost staff of hers back. I almost pity the darkspawn.”

Alistair hugged him back for a good few minutes, patted his back and let him go, smiling despite the sadness in his eyes.

“She’ll be OK, won’t she. Blackwall will look after her, right?”

“Of course he-”

Blackwall was no more a Warden than Dorian was. Blackwall was Blight-vulnerable as anyone, not familiar with the Deep Roads – and they’d just given him the tank role on a mission to them.

“Of course he’ll look after her,” Miraak said, forcing the smile to stay in place, because of course Blackwall had agreed. He had a role to keep up. Not to mention this new found self-sacrificing sense of honour. He probably thought it a fitting punishment.

Miraak patted Alistair’s shoulder and made for the writing desk, removing his gloves so he could grip a pen and summoning the Eye to cast a warming spell over the desk.

The Eye had been busily sitting in Dorian’s lap already doing that very thing, and it wasn’t long before his petulant amatus arrived, fur cloak wrapped round him and pouting at Miraak.

“Sorry lokaali, I needed it,” Miraak sighed. “I have to send word to Caer Bronach immediately. Serana’s going to kill me.”

“Serana?” Dorian asked, surprised. “Whatever for?”

Alistair had followed him, looking honestly confused by this point.

“What’s Serana got to do with this?” Alistair asked.

“She and Blackwall are… a couple. Sort of,” Miraak sighed. “Heading in that direction anyway. And my Inquisition just sent him to the Deep Roads. So I need to tell her that and hope she can get to the Storm Coast from Caer Bronach before Blackwall arrives. If nothing else, a Blight-immune mage who can see in the dark can only be an asset down there.”

“He’s a Grey Warden, he’ll be fine,” Alistair said, frowning. “He’s done this before? I mean, he might get killed, but it’s not like he doesn’t know what he’s in for. It’s a risk we all take from the moment we Join, and he knows that, doesn’t he?”

Miraak said nothing, not looking up from the letter he was penning in Tamrielic, and then he felt Dorian’s hand gripping the shoulder of the hand he wasn’t writing with, rather harder than was strictly necessary.

“Do we need to talk, pet,” and while Dorian’s voice was quiet, there was a certain harshness to it. Someone was clearly figuring things out.

“Yes, after I’ve sent this,” Miraak said wearily, accepting the inevitable. Attaching the letter to one of the birds, he got up and patted Alistair. “Zeymah. I need to speak with Dorian. I will see you later, yes?”

Alistair’s eyes had hardened as he stared at Miraak, clearly becoming hostile.

“My mother is on that mission, Miraak,” Alistair said softly. “If she gets hurt or doesn’t come back because of Blackwall…”

“I know,” Miraak said softly. “My brother. I am sorry. There are things I know but cannot tell you. Were it not for Liriel’s warning, I’d go myself, you know that. I might even disregard that but my presence would make the danger worse.”

“He’s a senior Warden, you shouldn’t need to even be there, he should have this one!” Alistair snapped.

“Unless he’s not one,” Dorian said quietly, leaning and lowering his voice. “And someone among us worked that out but has kept quiet.”

Silence, during which Miraak evaluated his options and realised that lying to these two was not a price worth paying for keeping Blackwall’s secret.

“In the tent,” Miraak sighed. “This is confidential.”

Neither man looked particularly impressed by this but they did follow. Whether that would be the case in half an hour… Miraak wasn’t remotely sure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The tent flaps closed, the Eye was hovering above the tent casting a muffling spell, and Miraak was sitting cross-legged on his bedroll with Dorian watching him and Alistair radiating suspicion, and blocking the tent exit in the process.

“All right, so what the bloody hell is going on,” Alistair snapped, glaring at Miraak. “How the fuck is Warden Blackwall not really a Warden. And is this related to why he’s been avoiding me since I found out about my mum?”

“Probably,” Miraak said quietly. “Serana worked out he didn’t have the Taint. She made him confess everything to me. Warden Blackwall’s been dead for years, the real one. Ours is a wanted criminal who the real Blackwall wanted to recruit to the Wardens. Except Warden Blackwall was killed by darkspawn before he could take our man in to be Joined and our survivor decided to steal his identity and go travelling.”

“He stole his… fucking hell. And you knew and kept it quiet??” Alistair snapped.

“I had my reasons,” Miraak said, not meeting Alistair’s eyes.

“They’d better be good ones,” Alistair shot back at him, seething. “Because thanks to you not telling anyone, he’s gone on a mission with my mother to the bloody Deep Roads!”

Miraak flinched, then glanced at Dorian, reaching for his hand. Dorian was shaking his head but did take it.

“Miraak told me someone in the Inquisition wasn’t who they pretended to be but not who it was,” Dorian said softly. “I wondered if it was Solas but Miraak’s got no motive to cover for him. But he and Blackwall are actually friends.”

“He’s not the man he used to be,” Miraak said quietly. “He’s done nothing but act with honour since I met him – may have saved me when we first met. He’s a good fighter and we need every blade we can get!”

“He’s not the man he’s claiming to be now, mate!” Alistair sighed. “Maker, Miraak. Of course he’s acting honourable, Warden Blackwall wouldn’t be anything else! You don’t know what he’ll do if he’s…”

“We did expose him, and he confessed and accepted his fate, he didn’t try to fight or run. Still hasn’t,” Miraak said, glancing up at Alistair to see how he was taking that. A little awkwardly. A little less hostile. Good. “And now he’s agreed to go to the Deep Roads despite knowing the taint will kill him if he’s infected.”

“You are aware of what the taint does to a non-immune person if it gets in their blood, aren’t you,” Dorian said, hand still holding Miraak’s and while he’d not said he approved exactly, Miraak got the sense he had his back.

“Of course I’m aware – for fuck’s sake,” Alistair cursed, finally dropping his gaze from Miraak. “I mean… fuck. I mean… whatever he did, and I’m assuming it was bad, I’m not sure even he deserves that death.”

“No, and he’s risking it, because of me,” Miraak said softly. “And I never asked him to, but he’s doing it anyway. He doesn’t even get a pardon out of this! Here am I, the man who enslaved an island and plotted to take it over and rule once more, and what do I get? Pardoned and put in charge, given a chance to atone. What does he get? The fucking Deep Roads.”

Miraak put his head in his hands, fingers in his hair, hating the injustice, because he should be joining Thom Rainier on the gallows if there was any justice. But there was not, and Miraak was not nearly selfless enough to put his own neck through the noose.

Thom Rainier was doing precisely that, and Miraak knew then Thom was a better man than him.

“Mate,” and Alistair was moving to sit on his other side, arm going round his shoulder, forgiveness clearly coming. Again. Completely undeserved. “He might not die. He’s got good gear, and he’s very good at fighting.”

“Anyone on that party, with the possible exception of Cole, could die, including your mother, and now you hope he lives?” Miraak asked, not really getting Alistair sometimes. How did you go from angry to forgiving that quickly?

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn't even know she was my mum, and she insisted on going,” Alistair sighed. “Also she was very firm I wasn’t. Maker, if I’d known Blackwall wasn’t really a Warden, I’d have ignored her and gone anyway.”

“You would not, you don’t have the taint masking your dragon blood any more,” Miraak snapped, his own anger rising at that. “One Thu’um could get you and everyone else killed.”

“Yeah I know,” Alistair said bitterly. “Fucking hell. She’d better come back, you know. If she doesn’t…”

“If she doesn’t, and Blackwall could have prevented this, I will turn him in myself,” Miraak promised, feeling morally all right with that part at least. “I gave him another chance on the understanding he’d fight for my Inquisition, not let my kin die.”

“You are aware Fiona’s not your kin, aren’t you,” said Dorian, letting go of Miraak’s hand only to snuggle a bit closer, and Miraak reached for him as well.

“She’s Alistair’s and that’s enough for me,” Miraak said, lover and brother in his arms and clearly no longer angry with him, and contentment with himself finally returned. “Well, Alistair? Am I forgiven?”

Alistair muttered and wrapped his arms around Miraak’s waist, head on his shoulder.

“Suppose,” Alistair said, scowling. “Long as you keep your promise. You prick.”

That would do. Miraak smiled and hugged his brother before glancing at Dorian, who’d been quiet throughout all this.

“And you?” Miraak asked. “You’re all right with it.”

Dorian just shook his head and kissed Miraak on the cheek.

“Amatus, if you honestly think I hadn’t guessed, you don’t know me very well,” Dorian sighed. “I understand why you did it and I still love you. Whatever you decide, I’m here for you.”

“Don’t tell him that!” Alistair cried. “He’ll be executing everyone who ends up on trial before him!”

Not true, he’d already pardoned one Movran the Under, father of the Avvar he’d killed, enjoying a few drinks and spending a fascinating evening learning more about the Avvar… just as Movran had been listening rather too intently to tales of the Dragon Cult. It had ended with Miraak assisting in arming and supplying the entire clan with a view to them moving north and setting up a traditional Avvar mead hall within Tevinter borders. It had made Dorian laugh anyway, and that was as important as any material benefit the Inquisition might receive.

“I will not do that,” Miraak promised. “Although I do have a collaborator with the Red Templars on her way back to Skyhold for trial. Vivienne seems to think hanging is normal for that and Bull was outright in favour. Varric less so, but he did remind me she had very little choice in the matter. I am tempted to execute but something tells me I shouldn’t.”

“It’s not collaboration if she was forced into it,” Dorian reminded him. Alistair having shifted position so he was lying on his back with his head resting on Miraak’s lap and showing no sign of moving, glanced up.

“So let the ones she screwed over make the decision. Send her back to help them out, work for them.”

The former owner sent back as an employee of the collective now owning and running her quarry. An excellent idea.

“I might do that,” Miraak said thoughtfully. “Thank you, zeymahi.”

Dorian however had gone very quiet, seeming bothered about something, and Miraak didn’t think it was Mistress Poulin.

“What is it, lokaal?” Miraak asked. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dorian said softly. “Doesn’t matter.”

“ _Dorian,_ ” Miraak growled, knowing that for the falsehood it clearly was. “What did we discuss about telling me about your problems?”

“It’s not – I don’t have any problems, Miraak, and I cannot be seen to be interfering in the judicial process!” Dorian protested.

That could mean anything but thankfully Alistair stepped in.

“Oh, is this about Alexius? They sent him to Skyhold. Anora doesn’t want to deal with him after all. Tevinter’s stripped him of his title and exiled him so don’t worry about that. He’s in the cells right now! I dropped in before we left to gloat and tell him what I thought of him trying to conscript my mother. I… suppose Dorian would quite like mercy for him.”

Dorian had said that very thing over dinner once back at Haven, but that had been before anyone was asking Miraak to be the one judging him.

“Don’t…” Dorian whispered, sounding something close to broken. “Miraak, they’ll all think I talked you out of execution if you spare him.”

Miraak patted Alistair then put both arms round Dorian and kissed his forehead.

“Dorian, you do not need to say anything. I know what would upset you. I know he cared for you, and you for him, and that he treated you better than your own family ever did. I know he deserves punishment but I will not kill someone who treated you kindly once.”

“Miraak, you don’t have to-” Dorian began and then Miraak silenced him with a kiss.

“Hush,” Miraak finally said as he broke off. “I will decide his punishment but it will not be death. He’s a capable mage. He might be useful. I will have to think.”

Dorian nestled in to Miraak’s chest, smile on his face.

“Thank you,” Dorian said quietly. “I know he should be punished. I just don’t want to unduly influence…”

“Dorian,” Miraak sighed, recalling all the time they’d had this argument. “We’ve established you’re a good influence and should keep doing it.”

“He’s right,” Alistair added. “I know what it’d be without you. Heads on pikes time!”

Miraak said nothing, lips quirking into a smile, and Dorian just tutted.

“Civilisation, Miraak. You’re living in it now. Rule of law, not desecrating corpses, all that.”

“This from a necromancer?? Dorian, sometimes it is necessary to send a message…”

“The rest of us just write letters, amatus.”

“Letters? You think the fear of the Dov will be struck into someone’s heart by a courier?”

“Some of those letters are vicious, Miraak!”

“Words spoken by one who is not a Dovah are not something I will ever live in fear of.”

“Unless Dorian says them, eh mate?”

“Hah! He knows you well.”

“… the pair of you stop it or I’m sending you back to Skyhold.”

Needless to say, neither of those things happened. The First Dragonborn turned Herald of Andraste might be a ruthless warlord at heart, but where his family were concerned, he’d put up with much. He’d already lost one family. He wasn’t losing the second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambassador Caradach ap Eola is definitely a long distant ancestor of Madanach's.
> 
> Next up, I've got to think about how to write The Descent when I've not played it in ages, and with Serana and Blackwall developing a budding romance and with Fiona along. It'll be interesting, that's for sure.


	23. The Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earthquakes are threatening the Inquisition's lyrium supply, and with mages and Templars alike reliant on it, the Inquisition acted in Miraak's absence, deciding that as they had a senior Grey Warden on staff, he could lead the way. What the Council didn't know was that Blackwall was no more a Warden than they were and had no Blight-immunity. Miraak found out too late to prevent Blackwall going... but not too late to get word to Blackwall's not-quite lover, a woman with a few secrets of her own, magical power not far off Miraak's and her own form of Blight-immunity. Serana wastes no time in going after the party, and what they find down there could reshape the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas everyone! Hope you're having a good time. Me, I am locked down and unable to see family so it's going to be interesting. Anyway, I finally finished this section so here it is. The Descent! This chapter would not have been possible without this video of the DLC content: watch?v=oaqjTk9g2wA which saved me replaying it. Miraak's unable to be involved but we've got Grand Enchanter Fiona on the case instead and she ended up with a lot of the Inquisitor lines. Plus we've also got Serana and let me tell you sending a vampire on this one was genius. Genius, I tell you.
> 
> Note on Thedosian vampire lore - Thedas does not really have them like Tamriel does because the Chantry wiped most of them out, but there are stories of blood-drinking abominations out there. There's no vampires like Serana though.

The Storm Coast was as bleak as Blackwall remembered, and knowing what lay beneath didn’t help. They’d felt the tremors on the surface. Maker only knew what they were doing to the roads underneath.

But the Inquisition had been busy, and Scout Harding was pleased to see the Inquisition party arrive.

“Good to see you all. Welcome to the Storm Coast! We’ve got the lift ready to go. Careful on there, it’s a long way down. Grand Enchanter, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“His Worship can’t go into the Deep Roads and is otherwise engaged liberating the Emprise du Lion from the Red Templars,” Fiona said, bowing slightly to Harding. “So as a former Warden who is immune to the Taint, I took it upon myself to come.”

Blackwall had been more than happy to give Fiona the lead role on this one. She’d offered it to him, but he’d said perhaps it was important for a mage, and an elven one at that, to be seen leading something. That had surprised her, but it had seemed to impress. Good. 

“Well, we’re very glad you’re here, Grand Enchanter,” Harding said, just relieved to see the Inquisition taking it seriously. “There’s been no darkspawn on the surface yet, but the seals keeping them away were damaged in the last quake. The Legion’s barely holding them back. And the lyrium mine down there’s collapsed. Orzammar’s in trouble, Grand Enchanter.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Fiona said gently. “We were told to meet a Shaper Valta.”

“She’s below. Orzammar has rules about its dwarves coming topside.” 

Harding’s expression said everything about what she thought about that. Born and bred on the surface, Lace Harding was not a dwarf who cared much for her ancestors’ traditions.

“Hey! Identify yourself, stranger! This area is off limits to civilians!”

Everyone turned, and the stranger turned out to be a woman in black and purple armour, a black hood hiding her face… but Blackwall knew, just knew, who it was.

“Lady Serana?” Blackwall gasped, feeling his blood chill at the thought of her along.

Fiona looked closer and called to the guards to let her through.

“I know her,” Fiona called. “She is one of Liriel’s people. We should see what she wants.”

“Cold blood, cold skin, blood still in her veins, remember how to breathe, not used to being around people, but I can’t let him die alone.”

That was Cole, managing to both reassure and terrify at the same time.

“No one’s going to die down there,” Blackwall said firmly. No one else anyway. And definitely not Lady Serana.

“Did you need something?” Fiona was asking her. 

“I would have thought I should be asking that question to you,” Serana said, small smile on her face under the hood. “You’re going into the Deep Roads, right? His Worship thought you might need my help.”

“You presume correctly. Did they tell you what the mission was? And what to expect?”

Serana nodded, orange eyes seeming to glow.

“I was told earthquakes were threatening the lyrium supply and we needed to investigate. As for what to expect, I was part of the force at Valammar. I’ve fought darkspawn. Helped hold the line while the others got to safety. I was last out before… look, I’ve fought them. Taken samples from them. And it turns out I have immunity to the Blight. Think you can use that down there, Grand Enchanter?”

“We can certainly use all the help we can get,” Fiona said, approving. “I don’t know how exactly you know you’re immune… but I will take your word for it. I hope you realise the consequences if you’re wrong?”

“I tended three infected soldiers for weeks before Liriel finally got back with that Shout that can purge it,” Serana said, wincing at the memories. “I know. Just… trust I know what I’m talking about.”

“All right,” Fiona said. “If you know what you’re letting yourself in for, you’re welcome. Let’s go, we don’t want to keep the dwarves waiting. Every moment could count.”

Fiona led the way, Solas and Cole following, but Blackwall had to drop back for a word with Serana, because there was no way he was letting her walk into danger if he could help it.

“What are you really doing here,” Blackwall said, lowering his voice. “You don’t need to be here, Serana. Go home while you still can.”

Serana stared at him, same height he was and those orange eyes unrelenting in their focus.

“You’re the whole reason I’m here, you idiot!” Serana hissed. “You’ve got no Blight immunity, even less darkspawn experience than I have, no one else knows that and you’re just walking blindly into danger! Well too bad, I’m not letting that happen.”

“I’ve made my choice, Serana,” Blackwall said firmly, squelching the part of him that wanted to run back to Skyhold. Warden Blackwall wouldn’t stand back and let others walk into danger unprotected, so nor would he. It was that simple. If he died down there, perhaps it was no more than he deserved.

Serana listened to this, shaking her head.

“You’re not dying down there,” Serana snapped. “Maybe I can’t stop you, but I can go with you. So I’m doing that.”

Blackwall remembered senses far beyond what was normal for humans, ability to see into even the darkest shadow, and strength enough to even stand up to him. Serana was no fragile beauty to be protected, he knew that, but even so, he didn’t like the idea of her suffering either.

He had missed her though. And her company on the way would be pleasant, most definitely, even if they were unlikely to get much privacy. And that she’d learned he was putting himself in danger and immediately come to make sure he was all right… that warmed his heart. He’d not said anything to her about his growing feelings. He was absolutely in no place for a relationship and even knowing Serana knew the truth about him did not make him worthy of her.

But Serana was beautiful. Serana was kind, good-natured, carried a few dark secrets of her own and possessed a resilience he’d not seen in many. Of course he loved her. You didn’t have to have the object of your affections return them for it to mean something. Still, Serana’s smile gave him hope, driving away the darkness for just a few moments, and holding out the possibility of redemption for even a wretch like him. It was a very slim possibility… but Serana made him want to believe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

An interminable time in the rickety wooden lift, literally just a platform of wood with struts at the corner, all five of them just looking at each other awkwardly. Not a lot of conversation to be had, but Solas had remarked on how fascinating Dwarven engineering was, and then Cole whispering the stone was angry. He’d not known stones could get angry.

“Is he always like this,” Serana whispered, edging away from Cole. She’d lowered her hood once the sunlight faded to a small circle above them.

“I’m afraid so,” Blackwall told her. “He’s… we’re not sure what he is. A spirit of compassion once. Then he decided to become human… sort of.”

Cole looked up, staring through pale blonde hair from under that wide-brimmed hat of his, staring right at Blackwall.

“A man with two names, fearing death… but not his own. The Black Wall between good and evil, his job to keep the monsters at bay, better his life than hers.”

And then he turned unflinchingly on Serana.

“He doesn’t know it’s too late for that.”

“That’s enough,” Blackwall snapped at him. “You leave Lady Serana alone.”

Cole edged away, lowering his eyes.

“Good and evil aren’t always obvious,” Cole whispered. “You could love a monster. So can she.”

“You need to stop talking now,” Serana said firmly. “Gods, talk about the weather or something.”

“Perhaps _everyone_ could stop,” Fiona said, voice ringing out in the lift shaft and surprisingly, everyone did. “Look, we’re here. Now let’s find this Shaper Valta.”

Shaper Valta turned out to be a young woman in good quality Legion armour, recording the names of some dwarven miners killed in the latest rockfall and promising their names would not be forgotten. Made sense. Fiona wasn’t an expert on Orzammar but she’d been told a little and studied more on the way up here. The Shaperate were the Dwarven record keepers, who cared for the Memories of Orzammar, its history. In a culture with no religion, they were the nearest they had to priests.

Normally Fiona had little time for priests these days, but Valta seemed genuine and relieved to see them, admitting the Legion of the Dead were at their limit, the quakes were getting worse and with the Wardens missing and most surfacers caring little for them, the Inquisition had been the only force they could rely on.

A lot of pressure on their shoulders, but Valta seemed to have faith in them. Then another tremor rocked the ravine they were standing near the edge of, and before Fiona knew it, she’d been sent flying backwards. Just in time. A boulder smashed into where she and Valta had been talking just moments earlier.

“Sorry,” Valta said as she helped her up. “I didn’t have time to explain. I knew the stone would fall as soon as the tremor hit. All of us down here have stone sense but mine was always stronger than most.”

“Stone sense is real?” Fiona asked. She’d not thought of it as an actual mystical sense – Dwarves didn’t have magic, everyone knew that. She’d thought it was a metaphor and the skills involved being more practical in nature.

“Mine is,” Valta said, suddenly realising how close she’d got to the small pillar of sunlight still beaming down from far, far above and flinching back. “I’m sorry, I can’t be near sunlight. One glimpse of the sun could cost me everything.”

Serana heard that, raised an eyebrow and actually smiled. Something in common with the dwarves. She’d not seen that coming.

Sound of fighting from further down and Valta turned round, hissing.

“The seal must have finally collapsed, and the darkspawn must be through. Come on, we need to help them!”

Valta reached for a helm, sword and shield and sprinted off, moving remarkably quickly in heavy armour, and for all the Shapers were akin to priests, it appeared this one could fight.

“Ready, Warden Blackwall?” Fiona asked, casting a barrier over them all.

The merest hesitation before he nodded and raised his own sword.

“Ready.”

Then Blackwall and Fiona were off, Fiona feeling it all coming back to her as if she’d never been away, going to fight darkspawn with her Warden comrades.

Well. One Warden comrade. And Solas the elven apostate. Also Cole the corporeal spirit, and Serana the mysterious Avvar mage whose magic had revealed her relationship to her son.

Fiona only knew of one kind of magic that could do that, but in the Deep Roads you didn’t get precious about that sort of thing. You couldn’t afford to, not when it was your life on the line. Anyone who had your back in battle and wasn’t a darkspawn was your ally.

From the way Serana was casting some sort of barrier on herself and running into battle with frost magic at the ready, Fiona had a feeling she didn’t need to worry about the former.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The seal had indeed gone, and the first thing to burst out to greet them was a full-size ogre.

“Blood of my ancestors, what is that??” Serana cried, casting an armouring spell. 

“It’s an ogre,” Fiona said, hurling a fireball at it. “Hit it with everything you have and do not let it catch you!”

Serana didn’t like to ask what would happen if it caught you. So she kept her distance, hit it with blood magic and frost magic both, the odd shock spell also keeping it off-balance.

Then she found out what happened when it caught you as it snatched up Cole, holding him aloft and squeezing.

Cole cried out, and Serana cried out because while Cole was a creepy little weirdo who clearly knew what a vampire was, he did not deserve this. 

Focusing on the Volkihar blood in her veins, she called on one of its gifts, a spell only recently unlocked, the ability to summon a gargoyle, normally limited to her vampire lord form, but recent research let her use the powers in her humanoid form as well.

The gargoyle flew screaming at the ogre, and Serana smiled as the ogre dropped Cole and turned its attention to the gargoyle, and with this distraction, they were able to finally beat it down, sending its corpse flying off into the ravine.

“Well,” Blackwall finally said. “That was bracing. Er… what is that thing?”

“It’s a gargoyle,” Serana admitted. “I summoned it.”

“It’s a blood magic construct,” Solas said, seeming fascinated. “Is that how you’re resistant to the Blight? You can use blood magic to nullify its affects?”

“Yes – sort of,” Serana sighed,, not liking how close this elf was getting to the truth. “I’m sorry, I know your religion forbids it but… you can’t tell me it isn’t useful down here.”

“I’ve never claimed to be Andrastian,” Solas said, twinkle in his eye. “Or any religion at all. Claims of any being to godhood are far more likely to be suspect than not in my experience.”

“Now there’s an opinion he keeps to himself back in Skyhold,” Blackwall remarked, rolling his eyes and grinning at Serana, and Serana could feel herself blushing as she realised Blackwall had heard her unmasked as a blood mage and not batted an eyelid. It wasn’t the same as knowing she was a vampire but for an Andrastian like he claimed to be (albeit not a terribly observant one), it wasn’t far off.

Cole was still staring at the gargoyle in awe.

“Stone summoned from blood and moving!” Cole whispered. “Fade made flesh, summoned and bound, night and magic in one.”

Serana took that as approval, and seeing as Valta seemed to be paying more attention to the corridor the ogre had come from, that just left Fiona… and to Serana’s surprise, she didn’t seem bothered.

“Down here, anyone who is not a darkspawn is a friend. Do what you must. We can’t sit around debating it. Not when I hear fighting.”

Shouting, clashing of steel and the unholy shrieking Serana flinched to remember.

“The seal must be down,” Valta gasped. “Would have to be for that to get past. Come on, we have to help!”

They ran down the corridor, and were met with darkspawn spilling out into a wider room, armoured dwarves struggling to hold them back.

“HOLD THE LINE, LEGIONNAIRES!” their commander was shouting. “NEED THOSE SODDING FUSES PRIMED AND IN PLACE!”

Blackwall was already running to join the line, and Fiona and Solas were assisting with barriers, Fiona seeing lyrium explosives and sending Cole to slip past and plant them.

Easier said than done, but the addition of Inquisition reinforcements seemed to turn the tide, what with barriers from the mages, Serana remembering healing spells Liriel had taught her to keep people on their feet, and no one caring about blood magic as long it was targeted firmly on the darkspawn. 

Eventually the darkspawn were killed, and the fuses good to go, and the Legion commander was shouting at them all to take cover. Serana just made it behind a steel shielding wall when the explosion went off, caving in the tunnel and sealing the Deep Roads entrance off.

Sensitive vampire hearing did not like that. Serana winced, channelling magicka into her ears, sitting with her head to her knees while the ringing stopped and her hearing slowly returned.

“Are you all right,” Blackwall said gruffly, rubbing her back. Serana nodded and it was all she could do not to lean against him for a hug. She resisted. Just about.

The Legion Commander turned out to be one Lieutenant Renn, clearly a long-time friend and companion of Shaper Valta. It turned out that far from leading a cushy life in the Shaperate, Valta had spent the last few years carrying out research in the Deep Roads and avoiding Orzammar.

“It was political,” Valta admitted. “I was asked to remove something from the Memories and refused. A cousin of King Bhelen’s getting involved with something he shouldn’t, the King wanted it covered up. Eventually it was agreed I should do field research. Away from Orzammar. So here I am.”

Exile. Poor thing. At least she had Renn. Serana wasn’t sure if they were lovers or not, but they were clearly close.

With the Deep Roads entrance sealed for now, there was time to set up camp, rest and resupply, and for Fiona to send an initial report back to Skyhold. And for Serana to do the other thing she came here for.

Dragon blood experiments had proved fruitful, and the application of both Reach and vampiric blood magical knowledge to the field had resulted in an experimental vaccine. Not properly tested at all. It wasn’t toxic, they’d established that much. But no one had been brave enough to go test it against darkspawn. 

It did however work in culture and it was better than nothing, and Serana took Blackwall to one side and quietly explained it all to him.

“So, do you want to try it?” Serana asked nervously. “I mean, it may not work but… I can’t just let you walk into the Deep Roads without it if it might help.”

“You promise it won’t be dangerous?” Blackwall asked, guarded. Serana nodded.

“Yeah. We tested it on goats. Then on a couple of captured pickpockets. They didn’t die. We’ve tested it on a few volunteers since, they’re all fine. You should be OK. Only it might not work.”

“I’ll take the chance,” Blackwall said, already rolling up his sleeve. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Vaccine administered. Blackwall barely even flinched as the needle went in and then it was done. Serana wiped the needle down and began packing her things away.

“So that’s it,” Blackwall said, staring at his arm in wonder. “I’m Blight immune now? All thanks to such a tiny little thing?”

“That’s the plan,” Serana told him, smiling. “You can thank me when it works.”

“If we all get out of here alive, I surely will,” Blackwall promised. “Here, have you got any left? You should offer it to Solas as well. I know he’s handy with the barriers but he’s not Blight immune either.”

That had not actually occurred to Serana but now he’d said that, she supposed she’d better. To her surprise, Solas raised his eyebrows then declined.

“No. But thank you. It is a gesture well meant. Perhaps our dwarven friends might volunteer? Shaper Valta and Lieutenant Renn are coming with us.”

Valta was the only one who could follow the quakes to the source, and Renn wasn’t letting her go alone. If those two weren’t lovers, they should be, Serana decided, and was pleased when they both accepted. Renn looked a little dubious but then shrugged, said ‘sod it all’ and offered his arm, and then Valta gave in and accepted too.

Serana hoped they all made it back now. Liriel and Eola would want to know about the results. And Serana couldn’t think about Blackwall dying. She just couldn’t. Even as they finished resupplying and prepared to enter the Deep Roads proper.

Even as they took the elevator down to the next level, where predictably more darkspawn were waiting for them, and they needed to find cogs to open the door to the sealed off section the quakes were coming from. Even as darkspawn were lurking everywhere and it was all Serana could do to keep them off Blackwall.

And then they were facing off a couple of those darkspawn genlock alphas with the spiky shield and while the two dwarves were just about holding down one of them, the other broke free from where Blackwall had been keeping it at bay and made straight for the vampire who’d been draining the life out of it.

It was faster than Serana gave it credit for and the spiky shield rammed straight into her, spikes impaling her and pinning her against the wall, blood everywhere, Serana screaming in pain.

“SERANA!” Blackwall howled, covering the ground to attack the genlock’s now vulnerable back, Cole there too and Fiona’s magic covering them, and the genlock perished.

The other one was also expiring and then Fiona and Solas were levitating the shield off her and Serana slumped to the floor, in pain and barely able to move and thirsty for blood because she’d gone from fully fed to bleeding out in seconds.

“Serana! SERANA!” Blackwall was crying. “Get her potions, a spell, anything!”

“How is she still alive,” Renn could be heard saying in disbelief. “She should be dead.”

Fiona’s healing magic washed over her, but it was all spells intended for the living and did no more than tickle.

“Why is this not working,” Fiona said with a frown, but it was Solas who answered, his own diagnostic spells telling him all he needed to.

“Because she is dead,” Solas said, lowering his hand. “No heartbeat and the lungs are being made to move.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, she’s still moving,” Blackwall snapped. “Serana, stay with me!”

“Pack,” Serana whispered. “My pack! Potions…”

It was all impaled lungs could manage. But there were blood potions in that pack, they’d help.

“She’s an abomination,” Fiona realised, drawing her staff. “A demon in a dead girl’s body.”

“No, no you’re not, you’re still Serana, come on!” Blackwall urged. And then Cole was there with her pack, wordlessly holding out a potion, and it was Blackwall who poured it down her throat, and then another, and Serana’s wounds healed before their eyes. One more and she was finally able to get up, holding on to Blackwall for support.

“You’re not a demon,” Blackwall said firmly. “You’re still Serana.”

“I’m Serana,” Serana confirmed, but she was looking around at two mages, one who was watching her carefully and the other looking about to kill her, and two confused dwarves. And one spirit of compassion who clearly knew she was a vampire but had still helped. And then there was Blackwall, who deserved to know the truth. Thom Rainier Blackwall, who had no moral high ground here.

“You’re undead,” Solas said calmly. “And you always were the whole time, weren’t you.”

“Undead?” Blackwall said, disbelieving. “I’ve fought undead. They’re usually more rotted.”

“Lesser undead, corpses possessed by some random spirit, undoubtedly. But the Greater Undead? Where the spirit is a powerful one that didn’t try on a rotting corpse but took the life of a living being, often willingly? They don’t rot, they preserve the corpse as it was. But there’s usually a price. They usually require the blood of the living to feed. There’s few in Thedas these days, the Chantry wiped the more established clans out very systematically. But they came with the humans and have been a scourge on the living ever since.”

Serana had heard such words before but never stated so matter of factly.

“My father’s court had plenty of willing elven vampires,” Serana snapped. “As it is, the ritual wasn’t my choice. My parents were pretty clear I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to stay part of the family. Yeah. I’m a vampire. It’s how I can resist the Blight, it only affects the living. Look, I didn’t have to come here and I brought enough blood to last me a few weeks if I’m careful. And avoid any more injuries like that one.”

“I won’t let that happen, I promise,” Blackwall told her, still holding her hand.

“Have you enthralled him already,” Fiona said tersely, casting her own diagnostic spells and then raising her eyebrows. “Hmm. He appears to still have his own will. Strange. So why are you here.”

Serana’s eyes slipped to Blackwall, whose expression was still one of love and longing despite the vampire revelation.

“To help,” Cole said softly. “Reach-magic had a vaccine to test, knowledge and lives saved always worth it… but Serana came to help the helpless.”

Eyes on Blackwall, and Serana had a feeling he could tell Blackwall’s secret as well, but wasn’t revealing it. Interesting. Apparently the spirit didn’t believe in betraying people who were actively helping.

Fiona was still shaking her head.

“Fighting alongside a maleficar abomination. How has it come to this. Ah well. It wouldn't be the first time I’ve had to work with one of those. You’re not a darkspawn at least. Come, we have a job to do. I will be watching you… but we do need your help. I have one question – Liriel, does she know?”

“She knows,” Serana admitted. “So does Miraak. I don’t think he wants me living in Skyhold, but he’s prepared to use my skills should he need them.”

“Of course he is,” Fiona sighed. “And… you did help reunite me with my son. Against my will, but not his and… it has not been easy but I have no regrets about it. I suppose it’s still true what I said earlier. Anyone down here who’s not a darkspawn and fights alongside us is an ally. After all, you did not need to come here.”

It was acceptance of a sort. Serana would take that although she had no illusions it would hold on the surface. No, best for everyone if she went back to Caer Bronach after this. Particularly a certain Thom Rainier Blackwall.

“About time,” Renn muttered, about done with the magey rubbish. “Come on, let’s go. We’re keeping the darkspawn waiting. What.”

“The presence of an undead blood-drinker in the party doesn’t bother you at all?” Solas asked, surprised. Renn shook his head.

“No. It’s like the lady elf said. She’s not got the Blight. She can fight the things. Looks like she’s also virtually unkillable. I’m all right with all that. Plus we’re dwarves. We don’t care about all that human Fade crap.”

“I could still feed on dwarves,” Serana felt obliged to point out.

“Then we’ll deal with it when it happens,” Valta said, siding with Renn. “Come on, let’s go before another quake hits.” 

Wise words and so they made their way on until a Thaig entrance opened up and a veritable swarm of darkspawn emerged. The fighting was vicious but they’d got better at dealing with the genlock alphas, and while Serana felt her vampire lord face was for another time, she felt better about unleashing her full powers now and had no compunction about melting into bats or mist to get behind foes.

The battle was won and Heidrun Thaig was laid bare before them.

“Wow, it’s like an entire city,” Serana breathed.

“It was, once,” Valta said, voice laden with sadness and unshed tears. “Heidrun Thaig, an entire dwarven city. Used to be known for its plentiful lyrium mines that never ran dry. One of the first to fall to the darkspawn.”

“And they’re still there,” Renn added. “See the fires? A darkspawn camp. We’ll need to get past them.”

“Find a choke point and lure them in to it,” Blackwall said, thinking it through like any other battle. “Renn and I will hold them, Valta too if she’s willing. Fiona and Solas can keep us barriered and magic flying at the enemy. Cole can get where he needs to and take out individuals. And Serana…”

His voice faltered here and here it came. Too uncomfortable thinking about her vampiric powers to think how to put them to use.

“Do whatever you need to,” Blackwall said gruffly, not looking at her. “You know what you’re capable of. You unleash anything you’ve got on them.”

Serana had not expected that.

“Anything?” Serana had to ask. “What if it’s horrific? The Chantry would ban… if the Chantry knew what I was, they’d kill me!”

“I know,” Blackwall said softly. “But they’re not here and the priests don’t know what it’s like out in the real world. The darkspawn are horrors, and they’re worse than anything you could ever be. Do what you need to, Serana. I won’t think less of you.”

He even sounded like he meant it. Serana would see if he still felt the same after seeing the vampire lord form. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They made camp at the overlook, having found the bodies of several Legionnaires killed by darkspawn and held an impromptu funeral. Apparently the darkspawn taint meant traditional dwarven burial was out of the question – the taint would only weaken the Stone

Odd that the allegedly non-religious dwarves thought of the Stone as a she, a Great Mother who took them in after death.

“Not so odd,” Solas said, with a cryptic smile. “They hold to a goddess they can see and shape, one who forms the basis of their very culture and who they spend their lives surrounded by. It is humans and their belief in a god who is not there that is the oddity.”

“Last I heard, the Dalish still worshipped ancient elven gods,” Fiona said tersely. “Is that illogical too?”

“Undoubtedly,” Solas said and that did surprise people. “Their gods are not only not there, they abandoned them to the human onslaught, in the first wars when Tevinter rose, and again after the fall of the Dales. Yet still they cling. It is useless to ask why. The only answer they will give is ‘because that is who we are’. Still. Perhaps that is the only answer they need.”

Serana’s experience of religion growing up had been an all too real Daedra and her personal encounter with him was one she’d rather forget. She left the campfire and went to look out on the thaig, the faint smell of Blight noticeable even from up here, carried on the fumes of the darkspawn campfires.

Not long after, Blackwall joined her, sitting down by her side and staring out at it too, saying nothing. 

Why he’d joined her, she didn’t know – didn’t want to. Still, it was cheering that he’d even sought her out. He could just have avoided her.

“You don’t mind me being here, do you?” he said at length. “Only I’m not sure I can listen to Solas and Fiona argue all night. Don’t get me wrong, Solas is a very intelligent man and I respect him, just as Fiona is a fearless leader and I respect her too. But he does have a tendency to lecture.”

Serana hadn’t expected that and she actually laughed.

“You noticed that too!” Serana laughed. “Oh wow, I thought it was just me. I mean, I’m not an expert on Oblivion. Not like my mother is. But I’ve been there. I have experience of Daedra. He seemed to assume I knew nothing or next to nothing. Then he told me I seemed to understand magic really well for a human.”

Blackwall laughed, clearly remembering that part.

“Do you think he knew you were a vampire at that point?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Serana said, feeling the condescension had been genuine. “I don’t think he knew until he saw me still moving after that shield hit me. I mean, he’d have no reason to keep it secret.”

“No,” Blackwall said softly, staring into the shadowed Thaig. “I… suppose we need to talk about it. You being… you know.”

“An undead blood-drinking horror? It’s all right, you can say it,” Serana sighed, and Blackwall’s gasp was gratifying at least.

“I don’t think that!” Blackwall cried. “Look, it was a shock, I know, but… you’re still you. I know you. You’re a good person. You came to Skyhold at great personal risk to help Alistair find his mother. And when you found out about me, you made me own up to Miraak. You’re honest. You’ve got a conscience. And when you heard about this mission, you risked yourself again to come down here. I told you before I wasn’t worth it and I meant it. But don’t think I’m not glad to have you here.”

“I drink blood!” Serana snapped. “Maybe not Cole’s, but anyone else in the party, I could feed on them. Including you. If I end up blood-starved, I may not have a choice!”

Blackwall looked up then, eyes meeting hers and she saw no sign of fear or hesitation before he took her hand.

“It will not come to that,” he told her. “I will not let it. You brought potions to stave that off, didn’t you? It’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” Serana said softly. “If it’s not… I’ll have to leave. I won’t be able to be around you or anyone. It won’t be safe.”

Blackwall tightened his grip, eyes still staring intently at her. 

“Feeding… you can do it without killing the person? Does it incapacitate them?”

“It doesn’t kill the person, not if you do it carefully and not too often,” Serana said, wondering where this was going. “I don’t need to feed more than once a day, and I can put it off for up to three before things get bad. As for after-effects, how would someone normally feel after losing a bit of blood? I guess they’d be tired and need to eat and rest. Why – wait. Oh no. Blackwall, no, you can’t be…”

“If you need to feed, do it to me,” Blackwall said softly. “Don’t look at me like that, I can take a bit of pain and blood loss. I’m a soldier, I’ve been wounded before. Maybe I’ll ask Fiona to heal me if needed.”

“Thom, you cannot be – you’re not serious!” Serana gasped. “Do you have any idea what you’re suggesting?”

“I’m offering to help out someone I care about,” Blackwall said firmly. “Look, we need you down here, you’re near indestructible. And… I’d miss you if you left and mourn you deeply if anything happened to you. Serana, please. If it comes to that, promise me you’ll think about it.”

Serana really wasn’t used to willing victims. Even in the Reach, where she had regulars, she set boundaries. She didn’t seek them out outside feeding, she didn’t get attached, she was firm on rotating them, she didn’t ask about their outside lives.

Now here was Thom Rainier Blackwall offering himself… and he was already in far too close, and the worst part was she didn’t want him to go. Part of her wanted to feed on him right now and she wasn’t even hungry.

For his own sake, he should be running far, far away right now, and why he’d not turned from her in disgust, she had no idea.

“Thom,” Serana whispered, and when using his real first name in private had become so easy, she wasn’t sure but easy and natural it felt. “Thom, you mustn’t do this. I’m not safe and you’re only… how are you all right with this?? I’m a monster.”

“Some would say the same about me,” Blackwall said, hand still in hers and that serious look on his face. “Some blood never washes off. Some sins can’t be forgiven. If people knew who I was, they’d hang me. At least I would deserve it. You don’t. You’re helping research cures for the Blight. You’re helping here and now. You helped Alistair find his mother. And even if you didn’t mention the vampirism at the time, you helped stop your own father from putting out the sun. Knowing you’re a vampire does make that make more sense, now I think of it.”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Serana admitted. “I’m sorry for not telling you everything. I can tell you the real story now if you want? Most of it anyway.”

“I think I’d like to hear it,” Blackwall said, smiling. “But first, listen. I need to tell you something. You probably already know, or guessed. You’re a bright woman, always were. And a very beautiful one too. That you’re a vampire… it doesn’t make a difference. It’s just more of who you are. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. Not if you can manage it safely. The rest is all down to you and what choices you make. And it hasn’t put me off you. It’s just another part of who you are. And who you are is lovely.”

Serana was sure she was blushing, which was something because she hadn't been certain vampires even could. But vampires could still feel things. 

“Thom,” Serana whispered. “Thom, no. You shouldn’t…”

“I have feelings for you,” Blackwall said, eyes not leaving hers. “I did nothing about them and tried to fight them because I believed I wasn’t worthy of you, and I’m still not. But you found out who I really was and didn’t run from me in disgust. You stayed and you helped. How can I not do the same. And not just because I owe you. But because I love you and that hasn’t changed.”

“You barely know me,” Serana whispered, and Blackwall raised her hand to his and kissed it, before letting her go.

“What I do know, I admire a great deal,” Blackwall said, getting to his feet. “If you don’t feel the same, I understand and will part from you after this mission if we both survive it. And you don’t have to give me an answer right away either. But if you do feel the same… Lady Serana, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Serana shook her head, because he had no idea what he was asking. And yet… other than potentially give his blood, what would she ask him to do?

Nothing he probably wouldn’t do anyway. Serana got to her feet, managing not to blush as he bowed at the waist and took his leave, returning to where the others were preparing to go to bed.

Thom Rainier-Blackwall. In love. With her. The man was an idiot and going to get himself killed. She was probably going to end up with a broken heart over this. And yet… 

No one had ever professed romantic love for her before. Not knowing who she really was. For him to know and still be willing to tell her that, to still even have the feelings, and to think he was the unworthy one… 

Serana didn’t always understand humans, and she understood this one hardly at all, but everything in her wanted to find out more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Eat, sleep and eat. Presumably that meant morning but with no sun to light the way, who knew. It didn’t matter, they were all on the same sleep cycle by this point, and for Serana this was quite the novelty. It almost made her want to visit the Deep Roads more often.

Almost. The darkspawn had a way of putting her off. And then they stumbled on the main hive.

Wave after wave after wave – it was endless. Shrieks, hurlocks, genlocks, emissaries, everything. Still, they perservered and with permission to not hold back, Serana was certain they were winning.

Until they got to the core of the hive and the lead emissaries appeared, horrors with draining spells that could put a vampire to shame, and their minions just kept coming.

Valta was on her knees. Renn was bleeding. Cole was unconscious. Two genlock alphas had pinned down Solas, Fiona was certainly down if not yet out, and Serana was frantically trying to duel one of the emissaries, shifting between bats and humanoid and trying not to think about how low on magicka she was and how her drain spell in this form was no match for the emissary’s.

Vampire Lord form would sort this mess out in about five minutes.

Thom would never smile at her again if he saw that.

Thom had said to use anything she had.

But then they’d all think she was an abomination. Which she was, but she could do without the stares.

Then the genlocks knocked Solas unconscious and turned on Blackwall, those menacing black shields ready to impale him next, and if he tried to block them the emissary would have him.

No one else was going to help. If she didn’t help him, he’d be dead and then he’d never kiss her hand or call her Lady Serana again.

Serana didn’t even think. 

“Thom!” she cried, and then she was changing, blood thudding in her veins as her entire form shifted and Serana the Vampire Lord emerged.

Claws shredded the emissary in front of her, and then she was off, heading for the alpha genlocks first, and a Vampire Lord’s blood magic did not care about those shields. The genlocks collapsed, the life drained out of them, and then it was just her and that last emissary, blood magic drawing it across the hall and slowly crushing it to death, and then Serana ripped its head off, letting the bloody remains fall.

Silence and the only thing left standing was Blackwall, staring up at her, shield still raised and Serana hesitated, lowering her claws. She knew that expression too well. Horror and fear… and then he gasped her name.

“Serana?” 

Serana nodded, dropping to the ground, and to her surprise he put his sword away and moved closer, lowering his shield.

“Is that what you really look like?” Blackwall whispered, and Serana shook her head then reverted back, everything going red then black as her body rearranged itself and then she was herself again.

“It’s my other form,” Serana said, voice tight and defensive, because no one could look on that face and still love it. “I… don’t use it much.”

“I can see why,” Blackwall said, still that sadness and wariness in his eyes. “Are you… all right? I mean… does it hurt?”

Serana nodded then realised that could be misinterpreted.

“Yes – I mean, I’m OK. It doesn’t hurt to change, not much. But it makes me stronger, faster, gives me powers I don’t necessarily have access to otherwise. I wasn’t going to but…”

She gestured at the darkspawn and their unconscious and semi-conscious allies and Blackwall nodded, seeming to understand.

“I did tell you to give the darkspawn everything you had,” Blackwall said ruefully. “Can’t complain when you do. Especially when it saves us.”

Serana nodded, but the fate of the others was the furthest thing on her mind right now. All she’d been able to think about had been Blackwall, and his face as three dangerous darkspawn had borne down on him, and she could almost feel undead blood pumping unusually fast, all sorts of primal urges that she normally kept well under wraps making their presence felt. Particularly because he’d seen her now. Seen her Vampire Lord face… and his reaction had been to ask if she was all right.

This was going to be a disaster, an utter disaster, but if anything happened to Blackwall, Serana would cry. And then rip apart the entire Deep Roads in her grief.

“I told you I’d keep you out of danger,” Serana whispered, moving closer to him despite knowing in her heart she should back off. If he had any sense he’d be backing off too. But he wasn’t, in fact he’d closed the gap.

“I must say, I’m not used to being the one being rescued,” Blackwall said, and despite the surface amusement, there was a little hitch in his voice, his heartbeat speeding up, a sudden breathlessness that betrayed his own emotions getting the better of him. “I’m used to being the one guarding other people.”

Serana was usually what other people needed protection from, but the thought of Blackwall coming to harm made her want to cry, and everything felt raw right now. Everything felt raw and mortal and human and messy and…

“No one’s hurting you,” Serana gasped. “I won’t let them!”

“Serana-!” Blackwall gasped but she’d gone this far, no point standing on ceremony now. She pulled him to her and silenced him with a kiss, lips against his as she finally gave in, and may her ancestors forgive her, she just wanted a man in her arms. No. Not any man. This one. Thom Rainier Blackwall, with kindness in his eyes and gentle hands and strong shoulders, who’d seen her Vampire Lord form and been worried it was painful for her. And he was kissing her back, those hands on her back, pulling her close and while she could easily break free, the feeling of his arms wrapped protectively around her was intoxicating. She could close her eyes and pretend for a while that she really was a helpless maiden swooning in her heroic protector’s arms. Just for a bit.

Finally Blackwall broke off, eyes staring into hers, their foreheads touching as he smiled gently at her.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Blackwall told her, smiling. “I don’t care you’re a vampire. I love you more than I can say.”

Definitely going to be a disaster. But Serana realised she didn’t care. She was happy. She was staring into Thom’s face and seeing adoration and affection, freely given, for her, not because of a blood or pain fetish. Gods help her, Serana couldn’t turn it down.

It was only Renn groaning in pain that brought her back to herself.

“We should see to the others,” Serana realised and Blackwall nodded.

“Yes, of course. I don’t know how many healing potions we have left, but if we use them on Fiona first, she can help with the rest.”

And so they tended to the others, Blackwall getting a potion down Fiona’s throat while Serana tended to Renn, and then they both helped Valta while Fiona healed Solas and Cole. And while Blackwall and Serana both took care to keep to themselves while the others were watching, he was constantly shooting shy smiles at her behind their backs and Serana couldn’t help but smile in return.

Beyond the nest was the main mineshaft with the elevator to the ancient lyrium mine that had been Heidrun Thaig’s economic fountain of plenty, and room to establish an entire Inquisition outpost. So they did just that, and the camp took shape, and with the darkspawn cleared, the Inquisition and Orzammar could send resources to help. Including a personal letter from Miraak hoping all was well and wanting to know if there was anything he could do to help.

Serana glanced at Blackwall as she read it out, shared a smile and wrote a response back in Tamrielic telling him all was well and they’d traced the quakes to a thaig built on top of an old lyrium mine, cleared the darkspawn inhabitants… and that they’d all survived unBlighted and Thom sent his best wishes. 

Said Thom added a codicil thanking Miraak for getting Serana to help, telling him she was a fearless fighter and had saved all their lives and he was very grateful to have her here.

“Just grateful?” Serana had to ask, raising an eyebrow, and Blackwall blushed.

“I’m not good with words, and he’s the bloody Inquisitor, he doesn’t need me gushing all over the page,” Blackwall said awkwardly. “It’s enough for him to know we’re all right and we’re on to something. He’s not a fool. He’ll read between the lines.”

Serana had a feeling a man with his own relatively new partner would have been fine with a more passionate declaration of new love, but when it came to trying to put words on the page, her own mind failed her. So reading between the lines it would have to be.

Off the page was another matter. Words weren’t needed in the end. Just smiling at each other and holding hands and Blackwall raising her fingers to his lips. Nothing more had happened. Apparently Blackwall was happy to take things slowly, for now at any rate.

“You deserve better than a desperate coupling in the Deep Roads,” Blackwall told her. “Don’t you worry about me.”

Not going to happen. She’d always worry. But he was here and safe, and content to rest his head in her lap by the campfire while she stroked his hair, and while Fiona sighed and shook her head, not entirely approving, no one actually said anything. Apart from Cole, who nodded, whispered ‘yes, be happy. They look at you and don’t see a monster and when they look at you like that, you believe it too.’

Which one of them that was aimed at, neither of them was sure, but perhaps it didn’t matter. They had each other and for now, that was enough.

As for the mission itself, Valta studied the ancient books that they’d found down in the hive and excitedly revealed one was written by an ancient Paragon who’d been king at the time, describing the source of the earthquakes as a Titan, which awoke beneath the thaig.

So all they had to do was stop the Titan. Somehow. Despite not knowing exactly what one was, and that something called a Titan was probably… big.

“Does it say how they stopped it?” Fiona asked and Valta shook her head.

“No. But the fact the quakes are happening again means they didn’t kill the Titan. They negotiated somehow. So we might be able to do the same.”

Negotiate with a Titan. How on Nirn that would even work, Serana had no idea. But as she’d said once to Liriel, she was nothing if not persuasive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Down the elevator into near total darkness and even Serana was having trouble seeing where she was going. Still, she saw better than the others and took the lead.

It felt different down here. No sign of Blight or darkspawn. And the energy felt… odd. Intense. Magically powerful in a way Serana had never even felt before. Like blood magic except stronger and… less dark. It burned with a cool fire that didn’t harm her, and Serana could feel something in her responding. She just wasn’t sure what it was.

“All right there, Serana?” Renn from behind her. “Don’t want to criticise your sense of direction but you’ve been standing there for the last minute not going anywhere.”

“I’m fine,” Serana said with a start. “I’m just… it feels so strange down here. Like we’re wrapped in magic itself. And it’s watching us… there!”

Two blue eyes glimmered in the darkness then blinked out, and Serana smelt it then. Something out there. Not darkspawn. But alive, with a beating heart and… it smelt Dwarven of all things.

“Are your people living down here?” she gasped, turning to where she thought Valta was standing.

“Not that I know of,” Valta said, surprised. “I knew Heidrun had a lyrium mine but it would have been abandoned once the thaig fell to the darkspawn. Survivors might have fled here but… why would the darkspawn not have come after them?”

Why indeed. There wasn’t much a darkspawn wouldn’t at least try and invade. But darkspawn were absent and these strange dwarves were very much present, in fact Detect Life was lighting them up. There were a lot of them and they seemed to be congregating around a certain point just up ahead and…

The tunnel air cleared as Serana stepped into a more open cave, and then she heard the unmistakeable sound of crossbows going off.

Memories of Isran calling her an ‘it’, hauling her off to the torture chamber and keeping her there, old bloodstains nagging at her to feed, be the monster Isran thought her kind were, and Serana cried out as Ironflesh didn’t cast in time to stop lyrium tipped bolts hitting her.

She’d never taken lyrium before, had no experience of it whatsoever. She wasn’t prepared for her senses to go wild and limbs to lose control as she collapsed to the floor, thrashing as her vision went day sky blue, a shade she’d not seen in a very long time.

Visions of oneness, of feeling the thoughts of an entire people, of being tall, mountain tall, striding the landscape of Skyrim with the sun beating down and not harming her. No burning, no pain, no fear, only feeling like floating, even as someone was screaming her name.

Fighting in the background, desperate cries, bodies falling, at least one magelight on the ceiling, and Serana slowly came back to herself, more so as she felt the bolts being ripped out.

Injured, she was injured and her blood moved to heal her, more quickly than usual, and afterwards… no hunger. No hunger at all. Strange.

“Serana!” Blackwall was gasping, shaking her shoulder, face haggard and drawn in the unnatural light. “Serana, wake up, are you all right?”

“I think so,” Serana whispered, welcoming his arms enfolding her. “What was on those bolts?? Vampires are supposed to be immune to poison.”

“Lyrium, I think, their weapons and armour are laced with the stuff,” Blackwall said. “Lyrium does strange things to mages. Not surprised it hit you hard.”

“Not how you like to feed but it fed you,” Cole whispered from behind Blackwall, staring at her from underneath that ridiculous hat. “Like blood but potent. You won’t hunger again for a while.”

Like blood?? That made no sense but… she wasn’t hungry. And it had felt like feeding on a drunk did, except more so. Like she’d been hit with an incredibly powerful drug that had fed her, not harmed her.

“I think I need to get up,” Serana whispered, reaching for Blackwall, who took her hand and then stared at her, little gasp escaping his lips.

“Serana? Your eyes! They’re… er…”

“My eyes??” Serana reached for her face, feeling no different apart from the light, floaty feeling still left over from the lyrium and the odd lack of blood hunger. “What about my eyes?” 

Her vision felt no different but something must have changed from the way Blackwall was staring at her.

“They’re blue,” Blackwall whispered, and Serana could only trace her cheekbones, wishing for a mirror more than anything.

“What,” Serana gasped. “But how is that… I’m still a vampire, right??”

A brief flick on and off of her night vision, feeling for her fangs (still there) and yes she still was. Albeit with eyes glowing blue, not orange.

“Strange blood in your veins,” Cole whispered. “Different now. Still a vampire, but what kind?”

Serana wasn’t sure. She supposed she’d find out. So she let Blackwall help her up and went to check on the others.

It wasn’t good. Renn was lying on the floor and Serana could already tell from a distance he was no longer among the living. Valta was kneeling next to him and closing his eyes, distraught.

“He always seemed so indestructible,” Valta whispered, wiping a tear away. “He never wanted this life, you know? He was a cobbler, a good one! He ended up in the Legion to pay his father’s debts, and stop his mother and brother losing their caste. I… he deserved so much better.”

“So do we all,” Fiona said softly, doing her best to comfort Valta. “I’m sorry. He seemed a good man.”

“The best,” Valta said, getting up and composing herself… and then they all saw Serana’s glowing blue eyes. “Wait… what? Do you know your eyes changed colour?”

“Yeah, so Blackwall tells me,” Serana said, awkwardness going up as she saw the young Shaper staring at her, looking far too fascinated for Serana’s liking. “They shot me with lyrium bolts and this is the result.”

“We thought it was killing you,” Solas said matter-of-factly. “I wondered if your kind might have a weakness to lyrium. Spirits certainly react to it.”

“I reacted all right,” Serana said, still wondering what it had done to her. “We’re supposed to be immune to poison, but it felt like I had been.”

“Lyrium’s dangerous but it’s no poison,” Valta said, frowning. “It’s… it carries the song of the Stone. And now it’s like the song’s in you. Like you absorbed its power somehow.”

“That’s impossible,” Serana said, shaking her head. “The only thing I absorb power from is blood.”

“Didn’t he just call it strange blood in your veins,” Blackwall said, glancing at Cole, and that just made things even weirder.

“Lyrium is blood of something?” Fiona said, reaching the obvious conclusion. “What on earth of?”

It did run in veins… but lyrium would need to be blood of the very earth itself.

“Or a Titan,” Valta whispered. “Stone, lyrium is the Titan’s blood?”

That would explain why the quakes were targeting lyrium mines. It did not explain why Fiona had suddenly started laughing.

“You mean every use of lyrium’s abilities is actually blood magic,” Fiona gasped through her laughter. “The Templars called us maleficarum, but they were using blood magic to keep us in line the whole time??”

Blackwall burst out laughing and Serana had to admit, it was pretty funny. Solas just shrugged.

“That is one of life’s greater ironies, indeed. You plan to report that back to the Inquisitor, I trust?”

“I need more evidence first,” Fiona said cheerfully. “But yes, I plan to tell him. I think it will make him laugh. And then I imagine he’ll make it public and use it to bolster the cause of mage freedom and make the Templars look awful.”

“It will make mages look worse, if you keep using lyrium for your own rites,” Solas observed. “Not to mention dwarven enchantments. Orzammar might not thank you either if the Chantry bans lyrium.”

“Orzammar’s Carta have been smuggling lyrium for years, I don’t expect that to change,” Fiona said cheerfully. “Lyrium is too useful to ban.”

That had not stopped the Chantry before. But Serana could only think of how she was feeling on lyrium and knew who else would be interested. Never mind the surface lands, one mission to Orzammar to set some portals up, and the dwarves would have themselves a whole new customer in King Madanach of the Reach. And if lyrium could replace blood in blood magic rites, the Reachmen truly would be a force to be reckoned with.

A thought for later. For now, they had a mission to continue, and Valta seemed all the more determined to see this through, to make Renn’s sacrifice worth it. So more exploration it was, natural tunnels giving way to Dwarven architecture, and more of the silent dwarves to fight. It turned out lyrium wasn’t just woven into their armour, but into their very skin. The armour was welded to them. And a wall of lyrium Memories, similar to the ones Valta was used to using in the Shaperate, revealed why. Once Valta had puzzled out the dialect, of course. The dwarves called themselves Sha-Brytol, or revered defenders. Of what, it didn’t say. But the text did reveal they cut their tongues out and entombed their bodies as a way of showing reverence, and them attacking outsiders on sight meant they were protecting something. And then Valta was able to translate a line that did make it clear. They watched over the Titan until it stirred.

“Well, it’s stirring now,” Fiona said, glancing around nervously. “I don’t suppose it says what they do then?”

“They might not know,” Solas pointed out. “These words are ancient and Valta can barely read them. They might not either. All they know is that it has stirred, and that the outsiders might be the cause. Of course they are hostile.”

That meant all they could do was press on, and prepare for more attacks. Which did indeed come, culminating in a sabotaged bridge, a forced diversion… and another Memory wall. This one talked of the Titan sculpting the world. 

“How big is this thing?” Serana whispered, glancing around uneasily, and even though she’d not sunk her fangs into the vein itself, it was always awkward dealing with someone whose blood you’d drunk. Even if she’d not had a choice in the matter.

“It is called a Titan,” Fiona observed. “Shaping the world within and without… that sounds significant somehow. And if lyrium is its blood… within and without. I will need to think on this.”

Serana noticed Solas frowning. Odd. Very odd. As if he knew something somehow. Within and without… the physical world and the Fade, maybe?

Something that shaped Mundus and Oblivion alike would have to be immensely old and immensely powerful, and Serana did not like this at all.

Further down and further in and at length they emerged in a glowing blue cavern, lyrium veins not buried but twining around stalactites, the entire cavern lit up like strange sunlight, and for a vampire, walking in light like this without feeling the heat was a new phenomenon entirely.

“It’s beautiful,” Serana gasped. “Look at it! And the lyrium, it’s humming!”

Lyrium was the singing metal, everyone knew that, but Serana hadn’t realised it was so loud. Apparently it normally wasn’t, but it normally didn’t just exist on top of the rock either.

“We must be getting closer to the source,” Valta said, determined. “Come on, let’s go.”

If the amount of Sha-Brytol defenders was anything to go by, they definitely were. The numbers only seemed to increase, and they’d erected barriers to keep them out that only a Sha-Brytol weapon could break.

“You’d think they’d build it and stay on the other side,” Blackwall observed after they’d smashed one.

“They are fanatics,” Solas said, shrugging. “Reason is not their strong point.”

Hard to argue with that. And so they fought on, until finally they found the door the Sha-Brytol had been guarding, leading to a cave with more Memories.

“Only the Pure may pass. All others will be punished,” Valta translated. “I suppose the Sha-Brytol are the pure.”

“And we’re the others,” Fiona sighed. “Well, it does read like a final warning. We must be close.”

Camp was made, now that the area seemed enemy-free, and Serana took the opportunity to explore the cave they’d just passed through. Which was where Blackwall found her, staring out at an underground sea.

“Look at it,” Serana breathed, enthralled. “It’s beautiful. The light, the water, everything! I could live down here, you know. No sun. No fire. I could live off the lyrium. It’d be perfect.”

“Not as perfect as you,” Blackwall murmured, coming to stand behind her and nuzzling her neck. Serana laughed and turned to face him, her new blue eyes reflecting the lyrium and just making her look more beautiful than ever.

“I’m very far from that,” Serana said, smiling as she placed her arms round his neck, fangs clearly visible and somehow Blackwall didn’t even mind the sight. “But thank you. I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Blackwall closed his eyes and drank in her scent, metallic and blood and the leather of her armour but also something else. Something that felt like sunlight.

“I was convinced I was going to die down here, you know,” Blackwall said softly. “When the Council told me Orzammar was in trouble and the Inquisition needed its lyrium supply securing, I was terrified out of my wits but I knew I couldn’t say no. It’d reveal who I was… and Warden Blackwall wouldn't abandon Orzammar in its hour of need. So I agreed. I thought it’d be no more than I deserved. I didn’t expect you to come. Or anything like this.”

“Me neither,” Serana murmured, leaning in to kiss him. Blackwall met her lips with relish, pulling her to him for a kiss, and while she didn’t feel warm like a normal woman might, she didn’t feel cold either. She seemed to have this odd energy in her blood lighting her up from the inside, and Blackwall could feel his skin prickling at her touch. It should put him off. It didn’t. He wanted more of her, and from the way she was pushing him back against a stalagmite, so did she.

“Should I get my armour off?” Blackwall murmured to her, and Serana gasped.

“Thought you’d never ask,” she breathed, and then they were both stripping the other down, Blackwall lying down on the rock, and pulling her on top of him, seeing lyrium reflecting off perfect skin, the body of an eternal eighteen year old, soft and warm and inviting but with a strength beneath he could barely hope to match.

Lips on his as they met in a tangle of limbs, and then more intimate contact followed and it ended with her riding him, coming on top of him and Blackwall closed his eyes and knew he would do anything to have this again.

Afterwards, she nestled in his arms, and if this was a forbidden heresy, Blackwall didn’t care. Serana was his to protect and he didn’t care who knew it.

“I love you, you know,” Blackwall murmured to her and Serana smiled.

“I’ve never… you know. Had someone before,” Serana said softly. “Not like that. Not with someone who cared about me. Thank you.”

“What, never?” Blackwall said, surprised. “I thought you’d be drowning in suitors.”

Serana actually shivered.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean, there’s plenty of people wanting to be… donors. But no one I really wanted to be with.”

“And you chose me. I’m honoured,” Blackwall murmured, kissing her cheek. Serana nestled on to his chest.

“It’s complicated,” Serana sighed. “I mean, everything about my past, my family, is… complicated. I never had siblings. My father’s dead. My mother is still around but she did lock me in a cave for thousands of years so that’s… awkward. Liriel’s one of the best friends I ever had if not the best, and Madanach’s my childe vampire and I care about him a lot but… they have each other. I never had someone look at me the way you do. Even knowing what I am. I guess I just wanted to forget I was a vampire for a while, with someone who makes me feel safe.”

“I’m glad I can help you feel that way,” Blackwall told her, and then a tremor rippled through the rock, and falling stalactites nearby reminded them they were not safe, not remotely, not while the Titan was still angry. So they got up, got dressed and returned to camp, to find packing up happening already.

“There you are,” Fiona said, and if she suspected what they’d been up to, she didn’t seem bothered. “Valta’s becoming increasingly concerned about the situation and doesn’t want to wait. We’re investigating the cave, get your things together.”

Ominous… but that quake had seemed fierce. Maybe it was time to get this over with.

Blackwall squeezed Serana’s hand, not sure what awaited, but knowing he had no regrets… and would protect Serana with his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Through the tunnel and it was a short one. Round the corner, light up ahead, light like daylight and Serana gasped, throwing up a hand… then realised she wasn’t burning, wasn’t in pain, was feeling fine in fact. Not daylight.

Valta was up ahead with Fiona, and the gasps told her they’d found something big.

Big wasn’t even the word. An entire valley, glowing with brilliant white light, mountain peaks with dwarven houses built into them and walkways connecting them and… lyrium. Lyrium gleaming, great arteries of it sprawling across the cave ceiling, all converging down on to one point and… was that a heart??

“The rhythm we followed – that’s it!” Valta gasped. “We found the source!”

“It’s a heart,” Fiona gasped. “A heart! Lyrium is truly blood! Hah! Ah, wait until I tell my son this. I think the Inquisitor will find it amusing as well.”

“But what’s it the heart of,” Valta whispered. “Still no sign of the Titan. Is that it, do you think?”

It surely had to be, and the lyrium was still thrumming through Serana’s blood. She’d taken a few more hits from lyrium bolts in subsequent fights, and while the effects weren’t as potent as that first time, they were still affecting her, to the extent she could sense the lyrium heartbeat herself now. A pulsing rhythm sending ripples not just through the vessels but through the rocks, her body, the very air, and then Serana realised why the Deep Roads here had felt so different.

“We’re in the Titan!” Serana realised. “That’s the heart but we’re in its body, have been for days! Maybe even since we first encountered the Sha-Brytol. And the lyrium is its blood. Blood so powerful that if a vampire drinks it, they change.”

She still didn’t know how yet, but she did know that both her mother and Madanach would be very interested in this.

It also made the prospect of negotiating with it awkward. But it was clear that heart bore closer inspection. They just had to get down there and… company. More Sha-Brytol and they weren’t happy.

The fight was hard, but not the hardest they’d faced yet, and Serana somehow found her magicka just not running out – or at least recharging quickly. Side-effect of the lyrium? She didn’t know, but this lyrium stuff was amazing. Going back to the blood of mortals after this would be a wrench.

The fighting was hard and brutal, and after, Blackwall in particular was looking solemn.

“There’s a whole city down here, look,” Blackwall said quietly. “An entire civilisation. And here we are, invading. These men and women were just protecting their homes. It didn’t seem to matter in the other cave, it wasn’t really inhabited. But this feels different. As if we shouldn’t be here.”

Serana glanced up and shivered, hoping that the buildings weren’t home to kids who’d just watched a parent killed. She squeezed Blackwall’s hand, hoping to both seek and offer reassurance.

“If we’re trespassing, they should be arresting us not just opening fire,” Serana said softly. “This isn’t like the Callier massacre, Thom. I don’t know if this is the right thing, but we can’t turn back now.”

“Oh we could,” Blackwall said bitterly. “But you’re right. We need to stop the quakes or innocents above will die too.”

Up ahead, Valta was clearly having similar thoughts, asking Fiona why they seemed so fanatical and unafraid of death.

“Perhaps they’re the Titan’s Legion of the Dead,” Fiona said thoughtfully, and Valta shuddered to hear it. That really wasn’t a comparison anyone wanted to hear.

And then another wall of memories, confirming what they’d suspected. The Sha-Brytol came here to walk the path of purity and drink the blood of the Titan, which sustained them and gave them life.

“Like vampires but no one calls us pure,” Serana breathed. “And we already figured out the Titan’s blood is lyrium.”

“You never drank lyrium before,” Solas said, observing her with some fascination. “You too take blood into your very being, letting it sustain you. I can only imagine what feeding on the blood of a Titan might do. You’ve already changed just from involuntarily absorbing it through their lyrium weapons.”

Serana had to wonder that herself, looking at the veins on the roof. Would it be worth finding out? Or would the Titan kill them all? She didn’t know and it wasn’t worth risking it. But purity… to be pure and untainted again… it might be a risk worth taking.

On they pressed, and finally the Heart was there, looming above them, the power and rhythm thudding through them. The party approached, staring up at it, all thinking as one ‘what do we do now?’

It seemed the Heart had thoughts on that too. A lyrium spear shot out, impaled Valta, sent her flying back along the walkway… and before anyone could go and help her, walls of rock and lyrium raised themselves in between them, sealing the five of them in with the Heart.

The lyrium veins shattered and the light went out, night falling as the Heart summoned rock and mutated into some sort of rock wraith, roaring as it raised tendrils of rock and lyrium to strike.

“Scatter!” Blackwall roared, raising his shield to block. “I’ll draw its attention, the rest of you try to bring it down!”

The battle was intense, healing potions being used, grenades being thrown, progress being made against the Heart’s Guardian, but it proved all too powerful. Cole was down. Solas was next. Fiona was on her knees. Blackwall was still standing but his sword was barely making a dent in it. But Serana noticed something. Its attacks weren’t targeting her much. Because she was a vampire on lyrium. Because she was… pure?

A limb lashed out and sent Blackwall staggering and Serana realised she had few options left. Vampire’s Seduction could calm it but she’d need to power it up. Only one source of potent power here. And so she took the risk.

Steeling herself through the pain as she grasped a writing tendril, she sank her fangs on to one of the veins and felt lyrium flow into her mouth, not stopping as she fed, not stopping as blood more potent than any she’d ever tasted flowed into her veins, and then she realised she couldn’t stop.

Her entire life flashing before her, turned against her will, forced by her parents, trapped underground for millennia, fighting her own father and why? Because the world was worth saving. And here she was again, with her new lover and new friends, trying to save the world from the earthquakes. Why? Because the world was worth saving. Because there was evil in the world, but plenty rising to fight it. Tears in the Veil but Miraak was healing them, becoming a better person against his will in the process. Three Dragonborns all trying to fix this. And Serana who just wanted to help.

_I am a monster but I am trying to save the world._

Something listened. Something heard. And something judged.

_You promise? This… Miraak will repair what was broken? And you will help him?_

_Yes, I’ll help. Please, we just came to stop the earthquakes, they’re hurting people. And we need lyrium to help us. Our mages need its power._

A pause and the Guardian’s tendrils stopped thrashing. Then Serana felt the rumble as the rock slabs blocking their exit collapsed, and the Guardian withdrew its tendril, reforming into a Heart and reconnecting with the rest of the lyrium.

The light returned and it felt warm, but Serana wasn’t burning.

_Fear no more the light of the sun, Serana Volkihar. You are no monster. You are pure!_

Serana staggered back and sat down, no idea what had happened but feeling whole, healthy, powerful and more at peace than she’d felt in a long time.

“Serana!” Blackwall cried, racing to her side. “Serana, you… are you all right? Only you’re… glowing.”

Serana let him help her up, still feeling very much a vampire, but the hunger was gone. She had a feeling she wouldn’t need to feed for a while.

 _I drank from a Titan??_ A being that could reshape the world within and without and it had reshaped her. In what way remained to be seen, but fear no more the light of the sun? Had she managed to achieve her father’s ambition? That would be deeply ironic. She hoped Harkon was in Coldharbour somewhere, suitably enraged at what his daughter had managed.

Fiona was getting to her feet, healing herself, then Solas and Cole, and then they went to check on Valta, who was slowly stirring.

“No… the song… too loud… STOP!” she cried, purple light glowing at her fingertips then blasting out, narrowly avoiding Fiona.

“What the…” Fiona gasped. “Did you just do magic??? That should be impossible!”

“It wasn’t a spell, it was an accident!” Valta gasped, staggering to her feet. “But it’s fine. It will all be fine.”

“You were hit by raw lyrium, you should be far from fine,” Solas observed, watching curiously. Serana said nothing. She’d _fed_ on the lyrium. And she was fine too. More than fine.

“I know, it should have poisoned me,” Valta said, staring down at her hands. “But I feel good. Better than good!”

“You’re not injured?” Fiona asked. “Not at all? Do you need me to examine you?”

Valta shook her head.

“No. I feel better than I ever have. Stronger. Faster. Clearer. I will not need a healer ever again.”

Valta walked to the parapet to look out over the shining valley.

“The Stone is silent, but the song still echoes and it tells me things. The rhythm is stilled. The tremors will not return. It was the Breach that set it off, Grand Enchanter. Now that it has a connection with one of its children, it is calm. And…”

Valta turned to look at Serana.

“The song is within you too. You too absorbed the lyrium. You’re pure as well.”

All eyes on Serana who covered her face with her hands, mortified. Blackwall’s arm round her, but everyone else was quiet, waiting for a response. All except Cole.

“You fed on it. You drank the lyrium! It’s in you now, it’s singing. The Tyranny of the Sun ended for you, Coldharbour’s Daughter now part of the Stone.”

“I was going to use vampiric blood magic to calm it but I didn’t have enough power,” Serana admitted, seeing no option but to confess. “So… I fed on one of its lyrium veins. And it realised and went through my head to find out who and what I was, because it didn’t recognise me. It saw my entire life and saw the Inquisition trying to seal the Breach. It asked me if Miraak would repair what was broken. I told it he would and that I’d help. And then it all stopped.”

To Serana’s surprise, Valta smiled.

“The Stone likes you,” Valta told her. “It was the Breach upset it, but learning from you that the damage is being repaired on the surface has helped. And you – you’re one of us now. But you shouldn’t stay. You made the Stone a promise, you should keep it. But once the rifts are healed and the one who caused them dealt with, you might be able to come back.”

Serana nodded, feeling forgiven in that instant and knowing in her heart that one of these days, she would. 

“Are you not coming back?” Fiona asked. “Won’t the Shaperate want to know about this?”

“Yes,” Valta said simply. “But I am not the one to tell them. I am staying here.”

“Staying… Valta, this has changed you,” Fiona said warily. “You need to be careful!”

“Just as any mage needs to be careful, but that does not mean they should be chained. You of all people should know that, Fiona,” Valta said, glancing knowingly at the elf, before turning to look at the lyrium again. “We call it isana, you know. It’s a gift from the Stone to my people. But it’s so much more. I came here to find lost history, and I am finding it. This is only the beginning. Yes, Fiona. I am staying here.”

“You’re not worried about the Sha-Brytol?” Fiona had to ask, and Valta shook her head.

“No. It is as I said. I am pure. They will not harm me. They will give you no further trouble either if Serana is with you. Perhaps Inquisition forces can investigate the Bastion outside with no further trouble even if she is not. But they will not be permitted to come here.”

That was fair enough. Valta’s mind was made up and Miraak would no doubt be very interested in all this. The Vampire Reach-King, more so. Serana had her own questions in need of answers, but she wouldn’t get those down here. And so the party left Valta meditating before the reformed Heart, and made their way to the surface. Back through the winding caves and tunnels, back to Heidrun Thaig, back to the Inquisition camp at the upper levels, then on to the Great Lift to be taken to the surface proper.

Serana looked up and saw daylight, and her hand reached for Blackwall’s, but as the light grew brighter, it dazzled her eyes but did not burn her. And for the first time in millennia, Serana stepped into sunlight and gasped. 

No pain. No burning. Nothing. Just walking in the day like a mortal, even though she was still a vampire.

Fear no more the heat of the sun. The Tyranny of the Sun was over, just like that, for her at least. Maybe for others too. Had she just saved vampire-kind?

“This is amazing,” Serana whispered. “I can just be in daylight without suffering!”

Blackwall smiled and took her in his arms, kissing her hand then pulling her close.

“And you look beautiful in it,” he told her, meaning every word. “Are you coming with us to Skyhold?”

“I… could do that now,” Serana whispered. “If I can be about during the day, and don’t need to feed on people, probably no one will even notice!”

She glanced at the others, suddenly concerned one of them might tell… but Fiona just smiled, Solas looked baffled and Cole nodded.

“Yes,” Cole whispered. “Move among people like you’re one of them again. Be one of them again. Not life but close enough. You help people. The Inquisition needs you.”

“I am certainly not one to go tale-bearing to the Chantry,” Solas said fondly, and Fiona just smiled.

“I think you two are rather good for each other,” Fiona said, approving. “If you do come to Skyhold, I’ll be happy to give you a tour of the mage facilities, just ask. We also have plentiful supplies of lyrium, it will be no trouble to secure you a supply, I think. You’ll need to make a full report to the Inquisitor, of course.”

Of course, but Serana had a feeling Miraak would be just too darn curious to complain much. 

“Not right away,” she said, recalling her other obligations. “I need to go back to Caer Bronach. If feeding on lyrium really does give you sunlight immunity, Madanach needs to know. And Orzammar just got itself a very well-paying customer for its lyrium.”

“I’ll be sure to present a full report to Inquisitor Miraak on your behalf then,” Fiona told her. “I think he’ll be very interested indeed.”

And so Serana parted, with a kiss for Blackwall and a promise to write, and sure enough, in due course a delegation from the Reach went to Orzammar under Inquisition colours and secured the trade deal that would go on to revolutionise Dwarven and Reachman culture alike.

But for now, the four of them returned to Skyhold, where the Inquisitor came out to meet them personally, Dorian at his side as always, and Alistair running to sweep his mother into his arms for a hug.

“You’re all right,” Alistair gasped. “Maker, I was so worried!”

“I am all right, my son,” Fiona said gently, still touched beyond words at the affection she didn’t remotely feel she’d earned. “I will not pretend it was not dangerous, but the Inquisitor’s letter to Serana did its job, and she likely saved us all. She had to report to Caer Bronach but I am sure she’ll be back.”

“I hope so, I am fond of her and Dorian here misses having someone to discuss alok dilon with,” Miraak said, stepping into view in his formal tunic but mask-free. He bowed to Fiona, nodded at Cole, just about acknowledged Solas then faced Blackwall… and then Blackwall gasped as six foot five of muscled Atmoran battlemage enveloped him in a hug.

Maker’s balls. Good thing he didn’t fancy men, because Miraak clearly didn’t mess about when he liked you.

“You survived,” Miraak gasped, patting him on the back before stepping away, hands on Blackwall’s forearms and a smile on his face that could melt hearts at a thousand paces. “Fahdoni, I feared… ah, it doesn’t matter. You survived! And have a grand tale to tell, no?”

“You could say that, yes,” Blackwall said, glancing at Fiona. “We’ll, er, need to debrief in private. So to speak – Dorian, stop sniggering.”

“There’s an image,” Dorian sighed, grinning at Blackwall and only stopping when Miraak let Blackwall go and turned to face Dorian with the full weight of Inquisitorial disapproval.

“Stop it,” Miraak said pointedly. “Bad enough you keep topping up Cullen’s tankard at Wicked Grace nights in the hope he’ll get reckless and gamble his armour away again. Don’t start on Blackwall too.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dorian said cheerfully, if not entirely truthfully. Miraak growled under his breath then put a firm arm round Dorian.

“Drinks all round then you will tell us the story, yes?” Miraak said, steering the subject far away from male Inquisition members running around Skyhold in states of undress. Blackwall was quite happy to get off _that_ topic. And so off it was to tell the tale to Miraak, who’d be impressed and intrigued and agree all this was interesting, and start arranging for Inquisition people to investigate further now the area was secured. And while the glowing heart chamber proved unreachable, there was loot to be had down there that enriched the Inquisition considerably. All in all, it couldn’t have gone better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reachmen getting their hands on lyrium and using it as a replacement for blood magical techniques, there's a prospect to worry everyone. Magical-Industrial Revolution happening in Tamriel within five years, Aldmeri Dominion surrendering in ten. But that's another story.
> 
> I did not have lyrium acting as Really Potent Blood and having Massive Effects on vampires in mind when I sent Serana down there, I mostly thought undead so can't get Blighted, crush on Blackwall so will look after him or even turn him if she has to. And then I remembered lyrium was blood when I got to the second half and decided to play with it. So, er, now Tamrielic vampires can walk in the sun and not need to drink blood if they can afford to pay the Mournful Throne. There's a certain delicious irony in Serana being the one to find it and achieve her father's ambition in very different ways.


End file.
